Drowning
by Mistress Eden
Summary: A unique twist on the Padme's is alive idea. AU PAV Very deep angsty fic. Watch for unexpected twists later :
1. Chapter One

Drowning

By: Mistress Eden, A.K.A.: Angeladear

Disclaimer: The story and situation are my own warped creation, the characters and setting belong to Lucas Arts.

Distribution: Angelic By Design (angelicbydesign dot net), Fanfiction dot net, and The Force Boards

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**Chapter One**

"**Having nothing, nothing can he lose."**

By William Shakespeare

I can hear the steady drip of water.

It's like a heartbeat- comforting, yet maddening at the same time. It grates on my nerves sometimes. But mostly I just close my eyes and pretend that it is a heartbeat, that I'm not alone.

But in my heart I know it's not. I know that when I open my eyes there will be no one there, just the unrelenting darkness.

The water has brought a chill with it. The air is cool and damp. At first it was refreshing, but now I can feel it seeping into my bones, digging into my chest with an aching cough. I frightened myself the first time I coughed. It was the first real noise I'd heard in years.

A droid comes twice a day, lowering into the pit that is my home.

It never makes any noise, but I can see it because, for the few minutes it takes for it to bring me my food and take away my old tray, I can see the dim glow of light high above my head.

Sometimes when the quiet is drawing in on me, I feel a strong urge to attack the little droid with my fork, just to hear it squeal and watch it spark. I don't, because it is my only link with the outside world, and because I'm afraid if I do, they will forget me completely. If they haven't already.

I remember when they first brought me here, I was still numb from the loss of Anakin, and from having my babies torn from my arms. Sometimes, I imagine I can feel their phantom weight in my arms. Just like I sometimes awaken with my husband's kiss on my lips. I wonder how old they are now? Irrelevant, I suppose.

When I was first captured by Palpatines toadies, I was placed in a basic cell with the rest of the prisoners in the detention center. But Palpatine wasn't satisfied with that. He wanted to punish me. I'm still not quite sure why... I usually just chalk it up to him being a miserable, withered old man whose only joy comes from hurting others-which I figure is pretty close to the mark. Anyway, I had only been in the cell for a couple of days when I heard them come for me again. Dangerous, they said. 'Ha! I don't have it in me anymore to be much of I threat,' I remember thinking. It didn't matter. They came, and they took me to the special treat that Palpatine had cooked up for me. My own special type of solitary confinement.

When I first saw my new home, what little self-preservation I had kicked in and I tried to get away from them. It didn't matter. To three armed storm troopers, a single, sickly woman wasn't much of a threat. So, despite my voluble protestations, I was lead to the low black door in the stone basement of the detention center. I watched, heart in my throat, as they slid back the heavy metal door, revealing the shadowed pit below. They didn't give me time to think about it. They simply pushed me in and left me alone.

It hurt. The fall was a long drop, and I hit hard on the packed earthen floor. Looking back ,I was lucky I didn't break something. I didn't really appreciate that at the time. It wasn't long after that that I decided to explore my new surroundings.

It didn't take me long. My personal pit consisted of four walls roughly 10 feet by 10 feet, a small 'fresher in one corner, and a rough pallet in the other. That was it. Little did I know then that this was to be my home. I estimate that I have been here for 10 years now. I wonder if I had known then how long I would rot here, if it would have made a difference.

I'm racked with the pain of a spasm tearing through my chest. The damp is a harsh companion these days. I carefully ease myself back, leaning gingerly against the wall. At times, it seems as though I am not an 'I' at all. It's difficult, almost impossible, to hold on to one's sense of self in this place.

Closing my eyes, I run my fingers over the rough etching in the wall. It's crude and deep, gouged again and again as a reminder to myself. And maybe, to whoever may come after me. I don't need to see the words, I know what they say. 'I am Padme Amidala Skywalker.' I AM. No one can take that away from me. I've lost my husband, my children, my home, and any semblance of my life. But this is one thing that not even Palpatine can take away from me. I am real. I existed.

Though, sometimes, I wonder.

At first I thought that Palpatine had forgotten about me, about whatever evil purpose that he had for keeping me alive. But now I've come to realize that this is his purpose. He put me here to forget me- so that everyone would forget me. And in that, I believe, he has won.

It has been 5 years since anyone has even checked on me-five years since my last human contact. I know, because it was right after that that I began my etchings. One line for every day since then, each one painstakingly carved into the stone of my prison with a spoon I stole from my dinner tray. Slightly melodramatic, I know, but you'd be surprised at the things you will be drawn to do when the madness and the silence creep up on you. It's not as though I have much else to fill my days.

I do not feel the change of time, nor the passing from one season to the next. I do not know what year it is, what month, or even what time of day. Time is meaningless here, yet at the same time, defining. I can feel the stretch and pull of it in my bones. I feel old. Whenever I touch my face, I'm surprised to still find it smooth and unlined. I feel like an old woman. I'm only 34.

I'm not in such bad shape, really. Not much chance of me losing my figure, not with the way I'm fed. But then again, I can sometimes feel the bones beneath my skin, too close to the surface. Sometimes my skin feels like tissue paper, and I imagine if I press in on it, it will give and tear, and I will be able to feel the warm pulse of my blood beneath my fingers.

As I said, the madness wears on you.

At any rate, my days are not busy ones. Often I will do 'Tong Gi', a series of Jedi exercises that Anakin once taught me. Anakin... to even think of him brings an ache to my heart, even after all these years. Sometimes, I wonder if he still lives under that cold exterior that is Darth Vader. I wonder if there is a part of him that aches as I do, as for a phantom limb- a feeling of something that should be there, but isn't. Sometimes I wonder if he remembers me at all.

Sometimes, I close my eyes and pretend that I'm back home on Naboo, that I'm a girl again, madly and innocently in love. Sometimes, I hate that girl. 'Fool!' I want to cry. 'Stupid, ignorant fool!' I was blind, and it was Anakin and my children that paid the price.

I wonder if my children will ever even know I exist. It hurts to think of it, but at least I know that they are safe. As much as it hurt, having them torn from my arms mere hours after being born, I know that they are safe. Obi-wan promised me. He failed in his other promises, but this one I know he will keep.

He has to.

Sometimes I pretend that I'm with them, that I'm holding them in my arms and that none of this ever happened. I dream that Anakin is still Anakin and we are a family.

Sometimes...sometimes, it hurts to dream.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter 2**

"**Faith isn't faith until it's all you're holding on to"**

By: Anonymous

When I woke up this morning, I realized my pallet was wet. And then I realized it wasn't just my pallet. The entire bottom of my cell was covered in a shallow pool of water. It seems my friend the water drop has grown. I wonder, does anyone up there realize? Probably not. I feel the urge to laugh hysterically. I'm going to drown down here, and likely no one will know until it's too late. Not funny, I know, but the urge is there.

It shouldn't matter. At this point I should be glad to die. But I'm not. This is not how I want to go out. I don't want to make it so easy for my enemy. I don't want to slip quietly and unnoticed into the next life. I want to go with a roar that will make him shake in fear. I feel the heavy weight of impudent anger sitting on my chest. I released it in a heavy sigh.

Fascinating, for a moment I fancy I can see my breath. I shake my head to clear it of the confusion. It is cold in here, though. It's always been cold, but not like this. Perhaps it's just my imagination, aided by the pervasive chill of the cold water that's seeped into my bones. With another heavy sigh, I move to the 'fresher. 'Not much real protection,' I think as I look back and forth between the flush and the small ledge that the hand basin rests in. The ledge is higher, but it is also smaller and looks very uncomfortable. I grab the heavy damp hem of my dress and climb up onto the fresher. After a little finagling, I find I can sit somewhat comfortably on the back of flush with my feet resting on the lid. Not much protection from the rising water, but it is better than nothing.

I close my eyes, leaning back against the hard stone wall. The once steady drip-drop of the water has become a full blown gush. It sounds like a faucet that's been left on by a careless child. I did that once, when I was a very little girl. I had left the water running in the tub when I was taking my bath, and it poured out over the side in a small tidal wave. My mother was not happy with me. I fancy I can hear her voice scolding me, and I smile.

I'm distracted from my memories by the sound of the trapdoor sliding open. I look up and watch my erstwhile companion, the food droid, come floating down into the chamber. I consider screaming for help, but I know no one will hear me. I wonder,even if they did hear me, would they care?

It doesn't matter. I will face my death with dignity. I won't give Palpatine the satisfaction of knowing I died in fear and terror. My jaw clenches in determination, sightless eyes watching the droid moving in the mindless ritual of switching the empty and filled trays on the rough stone ledge. I slide off of my perch, and move slowly through the ankle deep water to get to my tray. I'm not hungry, in truth the thought of food makes me slightly ill, but I will eat. 'I have to keep my strength up,' I tell myself.

For what, I don't quite know.

There was a time when I considered not eating, considered sharpening the edge of one of my utensils on the wall and gouging my wrists, watching them bleed. There was a time I considered escape. But I would not give in to despair then, and I will not give in to it now. Suicide is the coward's way, and if there is one thing Padme Amidala Naberrie Skywalker is not, it is a coward. I think.

In here, perceptions are skewed and you begin to question many things. I will admit that there were times when the silence crept in on me, times when cowardice didn't seem so bad. In times like those, the only thing that really stopped me was a desire to see my children again, to see Anakin again.

No, I am not foolish enough to believe that I will ever see them again. Not on this side of the grave. I was raised in a godly household, taught to believe, as were most people on Naboo, that suicide is an unpardonable sin. We are, and always have been, a people of great faith.

Ah- faith? How can I possibly have faith?

The answer to that is complicated. I will not deny that there have been moments of doubt, moments when uncertainty has crept up on me. That's natural, I suppose. The essential point of it though, is that I don't blame God for my current circumstances. I know that he is not to blame. There are many people to blame for what's happened; Palpatine, The Jedi council, Vader, even myself. But not God. We are all, inevitably, responsible for the decisions we make, and for the consequences of those decisions. Believe me, I learned that lesson the hard way.

Still, one may ask, how could I have faith **here**?

The simple answer is that I have to. I have to hold onto my faith, especially here. Sometimes, belief is all you have left.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter 3

"**The consequences of our crimes long survive their commission, and, like the ghosts of the murdered, forever haunt the steps of the malefactor"**

_Sir Walter Scott_

I've finished my supper. I shiver with the cold as I put my empty tray into the basin of the fresher. The water has risen several inches in the half hour it took me to eat the tasteless paste that they call dinner. When I started my meal, the water was just at my ankle. Now, it's touching my calf. The temperature appears to have dropped several degrees as well, I realize, as I try to wiggle my numb toes. I can barely feel my feet. I eye the ledge where the droid places my tray critically. It looks pretty high from where I'm huddled near the fresher. I'm too numb to attempt to climb it just now, so for the moment I sit on the back of the flush and rest my numb feet on its lid.

I am wrong, I decide, as I clench my teeth to stop their shaking. I'm not going to drown; I'm going to freeze to death. I laugh, picturing the indignity of having my frozen corpse found, most likely by an indifferent storm trooper, sitting frozen to the flush. My voice sounds cracked and rusty. This stirs me slightly. If I'm going to die, which is very likely at this point, I will do it with some dignity. I will not be the brunt of anyone's joke, even in death. Prideful, I suppose, but there it is.

I reach back and unbraid my long damp hair. I had cut it all off just after the twins were born, but in the long years since then it has grown to the point where it hangs almost to my feet. I run my fingers through it, trying ineffectually to brush out the snarls and tangles. Naturally, without the aid of a brush, this takes some time. As I work on the tedious task of combing out my hair, I absently run my tongue over the thick ridge of scar tissue just below my lower lip. A memento of my last conversation with Palpatine.

Not long after the twins were born ,I was arrested. I had been trying to arrange transport on a refugee vessel. I should have known better. The troopers that arrested me wasted no time in bringing me to Palpatine. Part of me was relieved that it was not Vader, another, more perverse part, was disappointed.

I wasn't stupid. I knew why I was there. The twisted old Sithspawn wanted my babies. He already had my husband, and I would be damned if I'd let him have my children too! With this foremost in my heart, I quickly fabricated the lie. I had born a son, and he died moments after his birth. I forced myself to believe this lie, filling my mind and spirit with sorrow and pain. It was not difficult. I had plenty to spare.

I faced him resolutely, my back stiff with pride. I would not cower before him, I would not let him see me weakened. **I would not.**

He didn't bother with pleasantries; I was glad of that, at least. He asked me the inevitable questions, and I naturally refused to answer. This was expected on both of our parts.

I was prepared, in theory, for his attack, but theory is very rarely the same as reality. He attacked my mind, trying to batter down my shields with sheer force of will. It hurt, badly. After several agonizing minutes, he gave up on his fruitless attack. I'm a very stubborn woman, especially when it comes to those that I love.

I remember looking up at him from where I laid on the floor. He looked ruffled, and was breathing heavily, his warped face flushed bright red from his exertions. I couldn't help it, I laughed.

That was a mistake.

He lifted me to my feet with the Force and struck me across the face. For an old man, he was surprisingly strong. My head snapped back sharply, and I could taste the metallic tang of blood as it exploded behind my teeth. He ordered me to tell him of my child, and warned me if I failed to cooperate I would not enjoy the consequences. Stubborn ,and prideful to the bitter end, I glared at him, letting him see the contempt in my eyes.

"Fine," I croaked bitterly. "Fine then, if you must know, the baby died. My son died minutes after his birth." I paused, tapping into the well of sorrow deep in my soul, deliberately radiating my pain. "There, now you know, you miserable old toad. Kill me and get it over with."

He scanned me, suspicious of my capitulation. I let him. I let him read my surface feelings. It disgusted me to let him even this far into my psyche, but I would have done far worse things to ensure the safety of my children.

He seemed to be satisfied after scanning me for a few moments. He saw what I wanted him to; the aching sense of loss, the despair, and underlying it all, the bitterness and contempt I felt for him. He didn't find the lie, because everything I felt was real.

He smiled at me- a truly frightening smile,-and said, "If the child is dead, you are of no further use to me. But before you go, I believe I need to teach you a lesson in respect." I do not know what he did to me, all I know is the agony that coursed through my body was unimaginable. The scar is from where I bit through my lip, fighting the painful seizures that wracked my body. He enjoyed it; took great, perverse pleasure from watching my pain filled spasms. It disgusts me to think of it.

Sometime during my torture, I lost consciousness, and when I awoke I was bound hand and foot, sitting in a transport shuttle. I don't know how I came to be there, or where they took me. I don't know anything.

When I finished combing my hair I was going to braid it again, but the small measure of warmth the curtain of hair gives me causes me to reconsider. Instead, I just braid two sections at the top to keep it out of my face. Bracing myself, I dip my hands into the frigid water and use it to scrub my face and hands. There is not much I can do about the dress. Standard prison issue white, made of some rough, sturdy material that doesn't stain or soil easily. Well, at least I'll be clean, and somewhat presentable, whatever good that will do me. Oddly enough, it does, in some small way, bolster my courage. Perhaps it's just the small act of doing something, anything.

I wiggle my toes. I can sort of feel them again, though they still feel stiff and clumsy. Slipping carefully off of my perch on the flush, I gasp as the icy water comes up to my knees. I wish it wasn't so dark, and that I could see clearly. Instead, all I see are shadows. I bite my lip and force my numb legs sluggishly forward, toward the small haven offered by my dinner ledge. I have to get up there, I must. There is no room for doubt.

I loop the long wet skirt of my dress into my collar. My numb fingers make me clumsy, so it takes a few tries. Stretching, I reach for the ledge. It's just about level with the top of my head. I'm short; I make no excuses for it. Hooking my numb fingers around a rough outcropping, I try to pull myself up. I manage to get my foot braced on a small rock that sticks out from the main wall, and pushing off of that, I just manage to get my abdomen over the edge. Suddenly, the rock beneath my foot is gone, and I feel myself slipping. My knee scrapes down the rough stone, and my abdomen slams hard into the sharp corner of the ledge. With a loud splash, I fall backwards into the water.

I just lay there for a moment, stunned and gasping for air. After what feels like hours, and in truth was probably only minutes, I manage to struggle up. My whole body is numb, except for the sharp aching throb of my shin and the stabbing pain in my abdomen. Instinctively, I look down, though in the dark this is a pointless endeavor. I can see nothing. I nearly fall back down, as I pull myself to my feet. My leg will barely support my weight. I painfully hobble back to the flush, which is mostly pointless at this point, as the water now covers the lid. Still, it's a place to regroup.

As I run my fingers over the sore spot on my abdomen, I can feel a tear in the fabric, and something surprisingly warm and sticky on my fingers. I know what it is. I'm bleeding. I resist the urge to scream in pain and frustration as I tear a thin strip of material from my dress and bind my wound. Tears sting my eyes, but I will not give in to them. I have to be strong, I can't go out a sniveling, frightened, coward. I will not give them the satisfaction. Who 'them' is, I'm not quite sure, but I'm still determined that they shall have no satisfaction from me.

I wonder-Have I gone mad? Thrilling thought. I can't help but laugh at the irony. I'm sitting in a freezing pit of water, on a partially submerged flush, bleeding, wondering if I'm crazy. Hmpf, that's the least of my problems.

I eye the ledge again suspiciously, or at least where I assume the ledge would be if I could see it clearly.

Resignedly, I move toward it once more, favoring my right leg and holding my hand over my abdomen. The shelf has become both my nemesis and my salvation. For me, being as stubborn as I am, it means that there is no acceptable alternative but that I manage to haul myself up onto it.

By pushing my feet against the wall, and bracing myself against the other wall, I manage to haul my top half up onto the edge. After which, it is only a matter of rolling up onto my side and squirming until I have my legs up too.

I'm panting, out of breath. It feels as though my lungs will burst, and the wound in my abdomen has been opened up more by my exertions. The pain from it is excruciating. Grunting, I pull myself into a sitting position, clutching my knees to my chest, as I resist the urge to cough. This position offers the dual benefits of warmth and of putting pressure on my wound. I nearly cry out as a rough bout of coughing racks my body, leaving me wheezing for air.

Closing my eyes once more, I begin to pray. Not that I will be saved, but that my children will grow up safe and happy and that whatever remains of Anakin will be redeemed some day. And that my death will be quick, and relatively painless.

I'm not afraid to die. Honestly? It's been a long time since I've truly been alive.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter 4

"**True Love burns the brightest, But the brightest flames leave the deepest scars."**

_Anonymous_

I think I blacked out for a little while. I find that highly disturbing. I shouldn't really be disturbed, I suppose. I mean really, I'm likely going to die soon, what are a few lost moments here or there? But I don't want to die in my sleep. I want to face it head on. I want to know that I'm dying when it happens. I can't say why. I guess, I was just never one to take things lying down.

I wake, choking, and for a moment I'm back on Mustafar, watching the man I love more than life choking that same life out of my body. The moment passes, and I'm back on the ledge. My body is racked by bouts of coughing. I sigh painfully as the spasms stop. I black out again, and, when I come to, my hands and feet are so numb I can barely feel them.

I curl more tightly into myself, trying to conserve what little warmth I have left. It's maddening-the waiting. I'm not a patient person by nature. I prefer action to inaction every time. My past experiences with waiting do not endear it to me. It's funny but, many of the most difficult times I've spent waiting, have pertained, in some way, to Anakin. When we first met, I waited for him to prepare for the race, and I waited for him to win it. Later, I waited for him to come back from his search for his mother. After we wed, I spent many sleepless nights waiting for him to come back from one mission or another- waiting for him to come back to me. The last time I waited for him was when he left for Mustafar. And, well, we know how that ended.

I've always hated waiting.

My life has been full, really. I have had many experiences that most people never do. I was 24 when I was arrested. It's odd, thinking of how much I really did accomplish in the short time I had. I was precocious, I suppose. I did everything young. I was a queen when I was little more than a child. A senator not long after. I married young, foolishly and impetuously. In retrospect, I was too young. I was just too young.

Regrets? I have many. I regret going into politics so young. I regret foolishly aiding Palpatine in his ambitions. I regret, at times, giving in to Anakin. I regret not paying more attention to his state of mind. I regret keeping our marriage a secret from the Jedi Council. I regret not stopping him when he left for Mustafar. I think I regret that most of all.

It's funny, and perhaps... no not perhaps, it's most definitely foolish and stupid of me, but I still love him. I would give anything, anything at all, just to have him here with me again. I want to see him, one last time.

The truth is, of all the regrets I hold in my heart, I do not regret loving him. Not even a little.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter 5

"_My love is as a fever, longing still_

_For that which longer nurseth the disease,_

_Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,_

_The uncertain Sickly appetite to please._"

William Shakespeare

(Full poem included below)

I've been drifting in and out of consciousness for some time. Dreams and memories haunt me, both waking and sleeping. There is no refuge for me anymore.

Refuge... I carefully lean over the edge, testing with my fingers to see how far the water has risen. It's higher than I expected. Only a few inches more, and my little sanctuary will be submerged. It won't be long now.

My thoughts turn to my children, something I rarely allow myself. It's just too painful. I can't describe how deeply this particular wound aches. In many ways my children are still just bright figures to me, possibilities.

When I was pregnant, I used to imagine what my child would be like. Something, I suppose, most mothers do. It's an incredible feeling, knowing that you have a life growing inside you. Sometimes, during the early stages, you can't even believe it; it's surreal. Later, when your body starts to change, it becomes more real. But all doubts and disbelief fade the first time you feel the baby move inside you. Even then, the baby is still just a bright possibility- something that could be, something you can imagine and dream. Inside your mind, the child you carry can be anything. That all changes in the moment of birth.

The moment I held them, all possibilities vanished. They were real and solid, their small bodies curled into mine. I loved them in that moment, madly, desperately. I loved them for themselves, my Luke and Leia. I also loved them for what they symbolized. They carried a hope for the future, pieces of both Anakin and myself.

They were so beautiful, my heart aches just thinking about them. There is no end to the love a mother has for her children, and no way to measure it. When Obi-wan came to take them away, it nearly killed me. I knew they had to go, but I wanted so desperately to hold them just a little longer, to hold them forever.

I could see the guilt and sorrow on his face when he took them from my arms. It's terrible of me, but I was glad. 'Good,' I thought. He deserved to feel guilty for taking my babies from me. When he left the room, holding his precious burden, he took the light with him and tore out my heart. I cried for days after they left. I wept until I had no more tears inside of me, and I was left hollow and wanting. I hated Anakin then, and in that dark moment I could have easily killed him.

Now sanity has returned, somewhat.

I don't hate Anakin. He is a part of me, and how can you hate your own heart? No, I don't hate Anakin. I hate Darth Vader. He is the machine that has swallowed my husband. Maybe I am blind, refusing to see the taint of darkness on the man I love. It is so much easier to create another in his place, to foot the blame of his dark fate.

My mind wanders at times, and things I had thought long forgotten pop into my mind, unannounced. This is one of those times. I can remember a poem I had to memorize when I was a young girl. Nubians take the arts very seriously. An appreciation for the arts is taught as strenuously as mathematics, or languages. My teeth chatter slightly as I force my numb lips to form the words so long forgotten.

_My love is as a fever, longing still_

_For that which longer nurseth the disease,_

_Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,_

_The uncertain Sickly appetite to please._

_My reason, the physician to my love,_

_Angry that his Prescriptions are not kept,_

_Hath Left me, and I desperate now approve_

_Desire is death, which physic did except._

_Past cure I am, now reason is past care,_

_And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;_

_My thoughts my discourse as madmen's are,_

_At random from the truth, vainly expressed:_

_For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,_

_Who art black as hell, and dark as night._

Alright, I am crazy. I'm sitting here in the freezing cold, reciting poetry. By the stars, I swear I've truly lost it. Ah, well- it keeps my mind off of my impending doom, at least.' Doom.' I mouth the word silently; it tickles my tongue oddly to say it.

I raise my arms over my head, stretching my back and wiggling my stiff fingers. In the darkness I can just make out the whiteness of my hands. I slowly lower one hand until it's inches from my eyes.

Is that my hand? It's thin and pale, looking almost skeletal in the darkness. Maybe I'm already dead, and I'm really just a ghost. This train of thought is interrupted by the cold rush of water as it begins to slowly rise up over my small ledge. This is not what frightens me. What frightens me is that I can barely feel it.

_I was walking through the snow, each step I took a great effort, as I slowly moved through the giant drifts. Far in the horizon I could see a dark figure, and I knew it was Anakin. A terrible urgency overtook me, and I knew that I had to get to him before it was too late. Too late for what, I do not know. I hurried my steps, but as I tried to move toward him, the skies opened up and snow began to fall, fast and heavy. It was so white I couldn't see much of anything, except a dark shape far in the distance. The snow poured down heavier and heavier until I couldn't see in front of me anymore, and the snow beneath my feet got deeper and deeper. _

_Still I moved on. The wind tore at my clothing, chilling me to the bone. I could hear the cry in the wind, "Go back now. You will not succeed!" _

_Still, I moved forward as the sky grew dark and black as pitch, the snow a white stain against this dark backdrop. _

_Still I moved forward, slowly, torturously forcing my legs to make each slow step. _

_Then the dark sky was rent with a terrible blood-curdling scream, and the snow was no longer white. The skies wept frozen tears of blood, and they stained the once white snow, until I was no longer wading in snow but a freezing river of blood. A current started to pull at my legs, pulling me under and I felt myself sinking. _

_Tears coursed down my cheeks as I realized I couldn't reach him, that I had failed. As the river of red closed over my head, a gloved hand shot into the river, gripping mine, and for a moment, I was not alone._

I wake from the blackness once again, to find the water is at my waist and I am so numb that I don't even really feel cold anymore, just this endless, bone deep ache. The aching of my body mirrors the aching in my heart so closely, that I can almost feel the steady thrum of the dual pains; coursing together, beat by beat.

The water has risen several inches; it is just touching my shoulders now. I really don't care anymore. In a way I am welcoming death. At first I was afraid, and angry, but now... now, I am more resigned. Now, I welcome the peaceful abyss, the refuge from the things that haunt me. I just want it to be over. I want the nightmare to end.

_I found myself lying in the bed of my apartment on Coruscant, warm and safe. But as two strong arms wrapped around me, I knew it was a dream. _

_A sense of contentment surrounded me as I lay safely ensconced in my husband's arms. He always made me feel incredibly safe, and yet filled me with a feeling of excitement at the same time. I looked up at him, the welcoming smile on my face changing to one of horror as his warm blue eyes turned a harsh yellow. Then, we were back on Mustafar once again, and I could see the dark look of rage on his face. I watched, as I have many times before, as he made his offer. This time there is no Obi-Wan to interfere. We were alone. The scene faded around us, leaving us alone in the darkness. Alone ,with his offer hanging between us. He extended his hand towards me and I watch in horrified fascination as it blackened, and became encased in dark leather. I looked up to his face, and it was covered by the mask of Vader. As I watched, his face went through several transformations,;the boy he once was, Anakin as he was when we married, Anakin during the clone wars, Anakin when we were reunited,Anakin with his face contorted in black rage and, finally, back to the mask that he has become. Still, through it all, he is still Anakin. This one fact never changed, and in that moment I knew I had made my choice._

I awake with a gasp, as my eyes flutter, desperately trying to reconcile the images they see with the ones that haunt my mind. For a moment, I think I see Vader standing before me, but as the dream fades I realize it is just my imagination. There is no one there. I am still alone.

My last dream plagues me incessantly. What does it mean? What would I have done if the dream continued? Or even better, what would I do now if Vader were standing before me, making his offer once again? The problem is, I do not know what would have happened if Obi-Wan had not showed up when he did. To this day, I do not now how that nightmare might have ended, had things been different. But that is irrelevant. I can't change the past. The question is, if Vader was here, now, what would Ido? Would I take to opportunity to be with my husband again, to be with my children again? Would I trade my beliefs and convictions for the family my heart yearns for? Or would I once again martyr my heart and let my mind rule my actions?

The problem is, I really don't know. Time has a way of softening convictions. Things that you once believed you could never accept, slowly grow on you. Things you once viewed as abhorrent, lose their edge with time. Then there are some things that never change, some things that you can never forget.

The water has reached my neck, and I can't bear to sit here any longer. I slowly, torturously push myself to my feet. One step, two, and I'm off the ledge, gasping for air as I desperately move my numb limbs. The cold is stabbing into me like a million prickling needles, and I carefully lean back and allow my body to float on the water's surface. I close my eyes, and I'm on Naboo again, swimming in the cool water of the lake. Here I am no longer a woman, but a child, free in the realms of my mind, free of the chains that bind me.

I can barely breathe, and darkness is edging in on my vision. I'm not cold anymore, the only thing I feel is a semi-pleasant lethargy. I know that my time is quickly coming to an end. It all sails by me once again, sorrows and joys, laughter, and tears, triumphs and failures-moments of pride, and memories of regret.

One last, sharp regret pierces the haze surrounding me. Anakin.

I never got to say goodbye. I can feel my last silent tears trickling down my cheeks. He is not here to hear me, but I whisper it still. Maybe my heart will cry to his and he will know. My lips are too numb, even to say my last goodbye, and all I can manage is the cry in my heart.

"Ani..."

My last silent plea leaves me, and I can feel the cold darkness sinking in on me once again, and I am drowning, sinking, sinking...


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter 6

"There is much pain that is quite noiseless; and vibrations that make human agonies are often a mere whisper in the roar of hurrying existence. There are glances of hatred that stab and raise no cry of murder; robberies that leave man or woman for ever beggared of peace and joy, yet kept secret by the sufferer /committed to no sound except that of low moans in the night, seen in no writing except that made on the face by the slow months of suppressed anguish and early morning tears. Many an inherited sorrow that has marred a life has been breathed into no human ear."

**George Eliot**

Lord Vader walked down the long corridors of the Rakesh Detention Center, Commander Gaversom almost running to keep up with his long strides. At least, likely as close to running as the commander ever came. Gaversom was a round little ball of a man. With a nasel voice and close-set eyes, he resembled nothing so much as a Gammorean pig. As they walked, the Commander kept up a running monologue of the Center's various prisoners, staff, and facilities.

In truth, Vader was only half listening. He could not have cared less if the entire facility fell down around their ears. Still he did what was expected of him. He listened, keeping an ear open for failure. If he found any incompetence on the Commander's part, the man would be executed. This too was expected.

The sounds of the facility hummed around them; the flickering lights overhead illuminating the dark corridors. Rakesh was one of the worst detention centers Vader had ever seen. It was meant to be. The entire facility was carved into one of the many cliffs that were native to the planet. When a prisoner first entered the facility, he wouldn't notice much. The hanger and first three levels, which were comprised of Operations and the barracks, were covered with durasteel plates, lending an air of civility to the rough terrain. However, as one travelled deeper into the prisoners wing, the civility slowly disappeared. The air became damp and chill, the walls rough, jagged black stone.

Here in the lower levels, where only the most dangerous of criminals were kept, the cells consisted of solid rock, with large durasteel doors set into a stone frame. The low hanging glow-lamps cast heavy shadows on the rough walls. Even the Commander, who had been happily occupied in listening to his own voice, quieted here. Vader could sense his disquiet through the Force.

The lower levels were like a tomb, the air still and dank. Here, the only sounds that pierced the eerie silence were the low wailing and keening of prisoners. Occasionally, this was interjected by piercing cries that sent shivers crawling down the Commander's spine. His beady little eyes darted around and beads of sweat trailed down his corpulent face. Commander Gaversom was a disgrace, his cowardice plain to all. Vader was tempted to kill him, but it would hardly be worth having to deal with the amount of paperwork that Gaversom's death would generate.

As they approached the turbolift, Gaversom stepped back, allowing Vader to enter the lift before waddling in behind him.

"Only three more levels to go, my Lord. Levels thirty-six and thirty-seven are detention levels. Level thirty-eight contains our interrogation facility and deep storage," Gaversom explained nervously as he activated the lift. Vader nodded curtly, acknowledging his words.

Suddenly, Vader froze. He was forced to grip the lift's railing as a wave of dizziness almost caused his knees to buckle. The dizziness passed and he was hit with a sharp pain in his chest as his lungs seized up, and he could not breathe.

He heard it then. The voice he had not heard in ten long years.

"Ani..."

The sound of her voice caused him to instinctively snap his head around, searching for the source of the voice. It couldn't be . . . it couldn't be! She was dead. Padme had died at his hands more than ten years ago, paying the price for sins that were not her own. She had died, leaving him alone in the darkness. Still, he could not resist the desire to reach for her, his mind searching for her presence through the Force.

He nearly fell to his knees when he found the tenuous link that had allowed him to hear her plea. She was alive. He could feel her.

Padme's presence was a bright beacon in his mind. Instinctively he reached for her, latching onto her Force signature. Feelings and sensations swamped him, and he knew they were hers. Realization struck him, not as a deduction, but as a certain knowledge; she was alive now, but if he did not get to her soon, she would not be much longer.

He allowed the Force to guide him, immersing himself in its flow, the only thing driving him, his bone deep desire to find her. She was close, far closer than he had expected. He didn't take the time to ponder this. There would be time to consider it later.

Ignoring the Commander's concerned questioning, Vader pushed the man aside and hit the button that would take him to the facility's lowest level.

The lift dropped, its Force-aided descent causing the terrified Commander to scream in fear. Vader ignored him, the mental tunnel he was in not allowing any outside distractions. Vader's entire body was tensed, every muscle prepared to spring into action the moment the lift doors opened.

Moments later they hit the ground, the Force cushion surrounding the lift the only thing that kept it from crumpling in on itself. The Commander was still screeching as the lift's doors slammed open with a Force-aided shove. Vader practically flew out the door, his form a dark blur against the sterile grey that surrounded them.

Vader allowed the Force to course through him, allowing him to move at preternatural speeds. He flew down the long hallway, not pausing to register any of the things around him. He ignored the baffled troopers, the screams of prisoners, the many doors and chambers. He was focused on his destination, and he would not be deterred.

He came to a stop in front of a large door. The door was bolted into the floor- top, bottom and side. It was made of some black metal that blended in easily with the surrounding rock.

Vader's eyes scanned over the door, looking for some means of opening it. Finding none, he simply blew it off its hinges with a Force blast.

Bending low to step into the dim interior, Vader's mask adjusted to the dimly lit room, allowing him to see clearly. His eyes frantically searched the room. He sensed her; he could feel her presence. But his eyes were not deceiving him, the room was empty except for a food prep unit and a small droid in its charging stand.

Then he saw it. There, set into the floor, was a round metal door. This one had a lock. He whirled to face the little commander who, along with several troopers, had finally caught up to him.

"You," he ordered harshly. "Open this door. Now!"

Gaversom stepped back at the force of his words. "I...I can't Milord," he stammered weakly.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Vader bellowed, the whole room shaking with the Force of his rage.

"I..I don't have access to this room, Milord. No one on base does. In fact ,I had nearly forgotten its existence. This is classified as a maximum security cell for a highly dangerous prisoner."

Vader barely noted the satisfying thud of Gaversom's body hitting the wall as he turned to face the hatch. In his desperation, a strong wave of power coursed through him. The remaining troopers watched, stunned, as the thick durasteel door peeled back like the lid of a rations can and smashed into the droid stand.

Vader, on the other hand, wasted no time on observation. He moved forward to peer into the pit below. It was black as pitch, but the mechanical eyes of his mask quickly switched into night vision, casting a blood red glow into the depths. As his eyes registered the sight before him, his heart nearly stopped.

Padme lay floating in a pool of water. Her skin was unnaturally pale and her dark hair floating around her in a watery halo. The heavy, bloodstained material of her dress floated around her, making her look like a slain angel. Vader flinched as the thought entered his mind. He shook it off quickly. He had more important things to focus on than his guilt at the moment.

The troopers watched in stunned amazement as the limp body of a small woman floated up from the gaping maw of the pit. Her long hair and dress dripped water. Even more amazing was the way Vader carefully lifted her out of the air, cradling her like a piece of fine Denuvian crystal. They had no opportunity to see more because Vader pushed passed them roughly, almost running with the small, limp body clutched in his arms.

Vader monitored Padme's vitals through the Force. She was incredibly weak and only his sheer force of will kept her heart beating and her lungs slowly inflating. She needed immediate medical care.

His mind raced agilely through the options. The medical wing of the base was closest but they wouldn't be able to treat her with the level of skill available on his flagship. Decision made, he left the lift in a Force-aided run, his heart pounding in his chest. As he ran, a silent plea echoed in his mind, "Please let her be all right. Let me make it in time. Let me save her this time."

The journey to the Executer was a blur, and if he was asked afterward what had occurred between the time he found her, and when he found himself watching as medical team transferred her limp body to the waiting biobed, he would have been hard pressed to account for the time. The things he remembered were the weak sound of her heart, how small and fragile she felt in his arms, and what it felt like to touch her again.

In a matter of moments, it was over and Padme was safely ensconced in the medical bay, undergoing emergency treatment. Only then did the man who was once Anakin Skywalker allow himself to think, to react, to feel. If anyone had entered the small anteroom of the medical bay, they would have been shocked to see the indestructible Lord Vader, sitting in a chair, his head in his hands, and his whole body shaking.

He still couldn't believe she was alive. All these years, all this time, she had been alive. And he had almost lost her again, and still could. It shocked him. But for the first time, since, well since he could remember, he could _feel_ again. Emotions made unfamiliar by their long absence coursed through him, frightening him with their intensity. He had forgotten what if felt like- joy, love, and fear. He was afraid; afraid he might lose her again, afraid of her reaction when she saw him.

After Padme had 'died', his heart had died with her. And over time, as the people who saw him as a man became fewer and fewer, so did his feelings. They had faded over time until he stopped feeling all together, merely existing in a sort of eternal limbo. It wasn't unpleasant. In truth, he hadn't even noticed it. He had never thought about it at all. He rarely thought at all. It was so much easier to exist in the empty void, simply doing what his Master commanded, and doing what was expected of him.

He had won countless victories, destroyed all challengers to the Empire, and yet it was hollow for him. There was no pleasure to be had in the destruction of his enemies. There was no joy in the victory, no pride, no glory. He had gained everything he once thought he wanted, only to lose the one thing he needed most.

Memories, long forgotten, assailed him, washing over him in a barrage of feeling. He had forgotten so many little things about her, little things that became so huge during the silence of the night. They had tormented him, tearing at the open wound in his heart.

So, he had done the only thing he could do. He took every memory, every thought, and locked it behind deep mental walls, burying it deep in the depths of his heart, locking away the part of him that was her's alone. He had locked away his heart, and locked away his pain.

And now, that part of him he had thought long dead, had risen to the surface once again. It had been resurrected by the discovery of his heart. For so long, everything had been empty shades of grey and black, without taste or flavor. But now, it was as though someone had lifted a veil, allowing him to see the truth. Now that he had her once again, now that he could feel once again, he was loathe to go back to that sterile void he had existed in so long.

Moving to the one-way mirror that looked down into the medbay, he watched as the medical team worked to restore her vitals. She was his heart and he would not lose her again.

If she died this time, she would not go alone.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter 7

"Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain, Had locked the source of softer woe, And burning pride and high disdain Forbade the rising tear to flow"

Sir Walter Scott

Vader stood in the brightly lit medical bay, silently staring at the still figure that lay before him.

Her face was pale and gaunt, dark circles framing her eyes. The still, white hands, so carefully folded, lay across her abdomen. She had always been small, but now her arms were incredibly thin, making her look infinitely fragile. He felt that if he touched her, she would shatter and fade away. Her time spent in that hell had not been kind to her. But to him, she was still the most beautiful woman in the galaxy.

He moved slowly forward, noting the various marks that marred her once smooth skin. All of this was irrelevant however, mattering little in comparison to the one fact that swamped him with emotion; she was breathing. Slow, and shallow, but steady. She was alive, and she would survive.

Vader glanced up, finally noticing the presence of the medical technician.

"Lord Vader." The man bowed politely, waiting for the Dark Lord to acknowledge him.

Vader nodded curtly. "What is her condition?"

"As you can see, Milord, her condition has stabilized. She is breathing normally, and her heart is weak, but steady. There is every likelihood that she will make a full recovery, with only a few side affects of her...illness."

Vader ignored the unspoken question that accompanied the word 'illness'. He instead asked one of his own. "When will she awaken?"

"That is difficult to say. It could be days or hours. It's difficult to judge when dealing with this sort of extreme trauma. When she first wakes up, she will likely be very weak and disoriented. This will pass in time. She should be able to leave the medical bay within a day or so of her awakening. Provided, of course, that she is supplied with appropriate care. I have detailed all of this in my report."

"Very well. Leave us," Vader ordered brusquely, as he took the small datapad from the technician.

After the technician had left, Vader folded himself into the room's sole chair, and simply watched Padme sleep. The technician had said that it would likely be some time before she woke. He still had no idea what was going to happen when she did. The last time she had seen him, he was whole and she had still refused him. What chance did he have of convincing her to stay with him now?

The long hours of his vigil flowed together. He had left orders that he was not to be disturbed, preferring to be alone with his thoughts, alone with his angel.

'What am I going to do now?' That one question underlaid everything. Repeating again and again in his mind, the conflict raged inside him.

In one way, Padme's reappearance changed everything. But then again, nothing had changed. He was still a Sith, still immersed in the darkness that tore at his very soul. He did not believe that she had changed so very much that she would forgive this easily. She wouldn't tolerate the dark taint in him. In a way, he could not even blame her for this. The part of him that was still Anakin hated himself, loathed what he had become. The darker part reveled in it, reveled in the fight that was sure to come.

The same darkness surrounded him, whispering tauntingly in his ear, reminding him of what he was. The conflict inside him was for nothing. He could not be redeemed. There was no choice; he had fallen to far to ever be free.

Yet, at the same time, he wanted that same freedom desperately. He wanted to be the man he once was, the man Padme had believed him to be. He could remember how she had looked at him- like he was someone special, like he was someone worth loving, like he was a hero.

That image was swiftly replaced with how she had looked at him on Mustafar. So many emotions had flickered across her face, all of them painful. Disbelief, horror, fear, betrayal, grief... the hero had fallen.

The one thing he had sought to preserve, the one person he needed above all others, and he had lost her.

_He felt her slipping away from him, the once strong threads of their bond slipping from his grasp one by one. Perhaps he had known, had really been grasping desperately at the threads, for some time. _

_He was already on the edge of the precipice and Obi-wan's appearance pushed him over. The dark emotions swamped him until he was drowning in them. Feelings of jealousy and betrayal blinded him with a dark rage._

_He lashed out, instinctively attacking the source of his pain. The moment he realized what he was doing, he had released her. _

_But by then it was to late. The last fragile threads of their bond were broken, destroyed in a moment of blind rage._

Of all the regrets he held inside himself, that was the one thing he regretted most of all. He regretted hurting her with every fiber of his being. In all of the time he had known her, had loved her, he had never, never lifted a hand against her. The man he had been would have died before allowing any harm to come to her.

In a way, he had.

Confusion clouded his mind. The clarity that had accompanied him in the moments after Padme's discovery had abandoned him, leaving him to founder in the chaotic well of thoughts and feelings that filled him. Varying feelings and thoughts attacking him from every side.

Light and dark. Dark and light. And always grey.

After so many years without her, he was like a man starved, glutting himself in her presence. It was like being able to breathe again. But at the same time, waiting for to awaken was like a dual-edged sword. He longed to talk to her, to hear the sound of her voice. He ached to touch her, to hold her in his arms. He wanted to protect her and cradle her close to his heart. And, at the same time, he wanted to lay his head on her breast and weep like a child.

But the darkness that dwelled inside of him was not to be ignored. It whispered taunting reminders of all that had occurred, tormenting him with painful memories and fears. The darkness had twisted the purity of his love for her into something dark and violent. Possession and desire merged with need.

It didn't matter whether she wanted to stay with him or not. She was his wife. His. He would not, could not let her go.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter 8

"Though my soul may set in darkness,

It will rise in perfect light,

I have loved the stars too fondly,

to be fearful of the night.**"**

_Sarah Williams_

I awaken slowly, fighting my way to the surface of consciousness. The first thing I notice is the blinding white light.

Am I dead?

Instinctively, I open my eyes and reality descends on me harshly once again. My eyes immediately slam shut to fight against the harsh white glare of the room. Even closed, my eyes want to look away from the painful brightness all around me. The disjointed floating sensation I had enjoyed moments before is gone, and I am once again trapped in my all-to-human body.

My eyes burn and water, the bright light piercing the fragile barrier of my eyelids. I have been too long in darkness and now the lights around me are a brutal attack on my fragile senses.

My thoughts are jumbled, my mind feeling like it has been wrapped in cotton, surrounded in a foggy barrier that holds reality just outside its grasp. I don't like it.

I need to focus on something. Anything.

I suppose the obvious would be that I am alive. I did not die in that miserable pit. Which means someone rescued me. Most likely a trooper or officer from, . . . Well, wherever this is.

The next logical thought would be that I am in the medical bay of, again, wherever this is. What good these deductions offer me, I do not know, but it helps to have something to focus on-something other than what really bothers me.

I cannot describe how surreal this all is. I had not expected to survive. I accepted the fact that I was going to die, prepared for it, and finally, welcomed it. Then, I woke up here, a strange place filled with blinding light.

It is all too much for me to absorb. I don't really know how to deal with it so, I don't.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't allow myself to do this. I would take all of the painful, confusing feelings and drag them, kicking and screaming, out into the light. But then again, these are not normal circumstances, and if I allow myself to think too long on things I cannot change, I will go mad.

I can hear various machines around me but nothing to indicate a human presence. Soft beeping noises, whirring, and an oddly comforting mechanical whoosh of air, kind of like a mechanical heartbeat. In and out, in and out. It feels like I am in the belly of some great beast, and the mechanical breathing of the machine surrounds me. The soothing sound lulls me into a sort of daze, and I am once again floating, happily separated from my aching body.

Here I merely exist- a mindless sort freedom. The weights and chains that bind me in my conscious hours are gone. Memories and fears fall away, one by one. Like a boat that has come untethered, I am floating, free in the confines of my mind.

A choked mechanical sound snaps me painfully back to reality.

The sound that nearly stops my heart.

"Padme..." The rough machine voice chokes out, sounding oddly strangled. Instinctively, my eyes snap open, trying to see this creature that has pulled me from the abyss.

All I can see is the bright light and, dimly, a dark shadow hanging over me. I cannot help it; I cry out as the sharp pain of the light pierces my eyes like sharp needles. I close my eyes once more and turn my face away from the light, into the cool dark shadow. I can feel its presence, knowing I should be afraid, and yet oddly comforted by this dark apparition.

The shadow stays still for a long moment, before moving quickly away from me. I feel oddly bereft, abandoned in the harsh white light.

I can hear the shadow, heavy footsteps thudding on the floor. Footsteps? So my shadow is a man, a machine man. A door whooshes open and I can once again hear its dark voice, this time harsh and violent as he berates someone in the next room. I cannot hear exactly what is said; I only catch words when the voice rages in anger.

"Light... Pain... should have known!"

The voice lowers menacingly and shivers crawl down my spine like Vine Tinglers.

Suddenly, the harsh brightness is gone, and the painful pressure on my eyes is eased. Lying still for a moment, I savor the cool comfort of the dark, before cautiously opening my eyes again.

Most of the light is gone. The only illumination in the room is the dim emergency lights that run around the base of the walls, and the small blinking lights that flash on the monitors on my biobed. If I look too closely at any of the lights my eyes still hurt slightly, but for the most part this dim darkness is a soothing comfort.

I take a deep breath, relishing the feel of the clean, dry air, air that is not laden with moisture, and does not smell of mildew and dank stone. The pain in my body is barely noticeable when I lay perfectly still.

For the first time in years, I actually feel comfortable. The bed I'm laying on is soft, the blankets that surround me, warm and thick. I do not feel hungry, or cold, and my body feels deliciously clean.

Carefully, I run my fingers over my hair. Someone has washed and braided it. It occurs to me then, that I am not in a prison med bay. A low thrum of fear settles in my belly, sending small shocks through my body.

There is only one person I know of who would take such of care of me. Only one person who has ever made me feel that odd mixture of safety and excitement. Really, only one person who would have cared to rescue me- the only one who could.

My thoughts are broken as the door once again slides open, and I know my thoughts have summoned him like the proverbial devil. This time, my eyes see him, see the large, dark figure looming in the doorway.

My heart trips in my chest as he steps further into the room. An unexpected rush of joy fills me, and for a moment it as if nothing has changed. I think, if I had been able, I would have rushed into his arms in that moment. But as the dim lighting cast shadows over his lifeless mask, my heart is reminded brutally that this is _not_ Anakin.

This is the man who destroyed him. He's encased in the dark suit that is the shell of Vader, his face obscured by that loathsome mask. He looks nothing like the man that was once my husband. This both causes me comfort and pain.

He stands at the foot of my bed, a silent specter, hovering over me. His head is slightly bowed, the arrogance and confidence I had expected noticeably absent. He is completely still, and I know he is waiting for me to speak. Even hidden in the shell that surrounds him, I know my husband.

He is afraid.

Of what, I wonder? I feel some bemusement as I realize that he does not realize that I know it is him under that mask. The amusement fades as it occurs to me that perhaps it is not. I fear that Anakin died long ago, and all that is left is Vader.

Still I cannot help the rush of foolish hope that fills my chest as my traitorous lips whisper his name.

"Anakin . . . "

My voice is harsh and raspy to my own ears. It should be, I suppose. I have not spoken to another living being in far longer than I can remember.

The dark head snaps up, and I can feel his astonishment radiating off of him in waves. A long moment passes before his dark voice once again breaks the silence.

"I..." he catches himself quickly before continuing, his voice almost unsure. "That name no longer has any meaning for me. The man you once knew no longer exists."

His words hit me like a blast of ice water, viciously squashing the small flicker of hope that had risen inside of me. It hurts. Even delivered in a voice that is not quite sure of itself, it hurts. It feels as though someone gripped the knife that was long ago buried in my heart and gave it a vicious twist, exposing wounds I had thought long healed. They are not. They are infected, weeping sores in my spirit.

"I see," I murmur lamely, unable to think of a suitable response to that. "Then I was mistaken. I thought you were my husband."

"I am your husband. That fact has not changed."

"Hasn't it? Anakin was my husband, and if you say that he no longer exists, that he is not you, than you cannot be my husband."

"You are my wife. Do not test me in this matter."

He turns away from me, and I can sense his agitation. It shocks me as I realize that it is through our bond, something I thought lost long ago. 'It's still there', I marvel, I can see it in my mind, a thin golden thread, tenuous and fragile...but there, still. Does this mean that Anakin is not as dead as I fear? Or is it simply that my bond is now to the monster he has become?

He turns to me once again and does what I expected him to do, what he has always done when faced with something he does not want to deal with. He changes the subject.

I feel some amusement as I realize that he is perhaps not so much changed as he would like to think.

"How are you feeling?" he asks gently, or at least as gently as the vocabulator of his mask will allow.

I shrug slightly and try to ease myself up into a sitting position. I fail miserably, as I am hit by a hard wave of nausea and dizziness. I might have fallen off the bed, but a large hand cradles my back and eases me back onto the pillows.

I watch him searchingly, as he carefully arranges the pillows and blankets to make sure I am comfortable.

I do not quite know what to make of him. As much as I know him, and as much as he has not changed, he is different. He is Vader. I can feel the dangerous edge underneath his shields, the roiling chaotic pit of darkness that whirls inside him. Anger, hatred, fear. All of these things are as much a part of him as the tenderness he now displays.

I suppose I should be afraid, worried about what he might do. After all, the last time I saw him, he nearly killed me. But I can't seem to summon the energy to fear him, or to hate him. Knowing what he has become, I still cannot believe in my heart that he would kill me. Of course, there are far worse things than dying. Believe me, I know.

His hand moves instinctively to smooth my hair, and he freezes, realizing for the fist time what he is doing. He steps back from me as though he has been burnt. 'He is afraid to touch me,' I realize. 'Why?'

"Thank you," I say stiffly. It's easier to put up the polite barriers of courtesy than to discuss what lies beneath the surface, or to let him see the weakness.

He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable to hear my thanks. It's odd, seeing such a human gesture on, what is essentially, a machine. I know, looking at him, that most beings only see the machine. I wonder, do they even know that underneath the shell he is a flesh and blood man?

Or perhaps, I am the one in the wrong. Perhaps he is only a machine after all. It's much easier to think so. It aids the delineation in my mind between Anakin and Vader. If they are two different beings, I do not have to deal with the crushing pain that hovers over me.

"How, did this happen?" I question softly gesturing at his suit. I had seen the images on the holonews, seen him standing next to the man he now calls 'Master'. But I had no idea what occurred between the time I saw him last and then.

The answer comes in a voice harsh from bitterness and pain. "Mustafar. After . . . " His voice trails off and I know the meaning of his unspoken words. Yes, after...

Through the tenuous thread of our bond, I catch images and painful memories- the fire, the pain, and the fear. Even after all that has happened, I feel tears welling in my eyes. I cannot stand his pain. More fool I.

I turn my face away from him. I don't want him to see the tears that stubbornly pool in my eyes. He does not need another weakness to exploit. I may not fear him, but I do not, cannot, trust him. He is not Anakin. Anakin and Vader are two different beings! They have to be, for what remains of my tattered heart, my enemy, cannot be my love.

I'm disturbed from my thoughts by the rumble of his voice. In a perverse sort of way, I actually like it. The deep timbre is soothing.

"You're tired. Perhaps it would be best if I left."

"No!"

The word jumps from my lips before I can stop it, and I am filled with shame over my weakness. I'm terrified by the thought of being alone in the darkness once again. Before, when he left, I could still hear him in the other room. I could hear the voices and know I was not alone.

He's looking at me, the reflective eyes of his mask impossible to read. After a moment he nods, silently answering my unspoken plea. It strikes me then that he knows, he understands. I forget sometimes that our bond works both ways. As he is to me, I am to him. We are neither of us complete, but two pieces of a whole.

But then again, I cannot forget that we're broken. We don't fit anymore. As much as I would like to curl up in his arms and have him hold me, I cannot. There is too much that lies between us. Too many words lie unsaid. Too many questions we both want to ask. Too many answers we don't want to hear.

My eyes dart to him again, where he is sitting in the room's only chair. It's funny to see his large frame bent awkwardly into the small chair. It can't possibly be comfortable. Not that I care, I remind myself stubbornly. He is not Anakin. Instinctively, my weak defenses allow my heart to respond to him, but my mind knows the truth. I can accept nothing else.

I will have to deal with the things that lie between he and I soon enough. He is being surprisingly patient. Perhaps he, too, is unprepared to deal with this. I know though, that he will not leave matters lie, and honestly, I couldn't either. Sooner or later, one, or both, of us will lose the polite reserve that lies between us, and our true natures will emerge. What I wonder is, when he drops the pretense what will lie beneath? Will it be Anakin or Vader who is the mask?

I can stand the silence no longer, so I ask the first question that enters my mind. I feel no real need to know, but I ask still.

"Where are we?"

"The medical bay of my flagship, the Executor."

I have a slight urge to make a comment about the appropriateness of its name, but refrain. No point in provoking the sabercat in its den. Instead, I ask the real question that has been itching at me. Knowledge is power, and I have been powerless for quite some time.

"How did you find me?"

He is silent for a moment before answering me.

"I was inspecting a detention facility on Rakesh, and I heard you. I heard you call out to me, and I realized that you were alive. That you were in danger..."

I zone out slightly, not really listening to what he says. I have heard enough to gather the gist of it. He heard me somehow, felt me through a bond that had long been dead. How odd is that? And really, rather disturbing. I don't know what it means, and part of me can't help but feel that I should have died in that miserable pit. Even thinking of it makes me feel slightly ill.

As I said, I'm not really listening to what he says. But I am listening, I'm listening to the sound of his voice, the deep timbre, the rise and fall of the words. After so long in the quiet, the sound of another person speaking is fascinating. Even the steady whoosh of his mechanical breathing is pleasent, soothing, and oddly... comforting.

How perverse am I, to find comfort from the monster?

His voice stops, and I glance up at him. He was asking me something, and I don't know what it was.

"Tell me what happened to you. How did you come to be in that...place." He says the last with tinge of disgust.

I open my mouth to speak, to tell him all that had occurred, but I cannot. The words catch in my throat, a painful pressure in my chest. I cannot breathe. I want to tell him, share the burdens that have weighed me down the past ten years, but I simply cannot do it. It is all too fresh in my mind, too close to the surface.

"I can't," I finally manage to gasp out.

I can feel the intense need to know battering at him like waves, spilling over into me.

"You will tell me," he says firmly.

I refuse to respond to that. So instead I merely stare at him, the challenge clear on my face. 'Make me.'

He turns away from me, and I know he is struggling with his temper. Long moments pass before he reluctantly amends his statement.

"When you are ready."

I did not expect him to yield so easily. Perhaps he has mellowed, but then again, perhaps not.

He turns to look at me once again, the dim light of the emergency lights illuminating the lifeless mask that shields his face.

"If you will not speak of what happened to you, at least tell me what happened to the child."

An intense wave of pain and anger courses through me and pounds at my chest.

"You have no right to ask me that!"

"It is my child, too." His voice is surprisingly calm and soft.

"Anakin's child. But as you said, you are not Anakin anymore, are you? If that name has no meaning to you, than nothing from that life has any meaning to you."

The pain and rage pouring off of him almost makes me regret my words. Almost.

"Regardless of your feelings in this matter, I have a right to know what happened to the child."

"No. No you don't! You lost all rights to know anything about **my** child, when you attacked us on Mustafar."

The anger leaves him as my words strike him like a blow, only to be replaced by intense guilt and sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice as soft as his mask will allow. "You have to believe it was never my intention to harm you. I wouldn't have attacked you if..." He trails off. He begins to pace, and I can see the anger boiling underneath the service. Then it flashes, a violent flame, just as I knew it would.

"This is all Obi-Wan's fault! If he hadn't been on your ship, I never would have..."

I cut him off viciously, unwilling to listen to more. "It was not Obi-wan's hand that closed my throat, Anakin.

The words flew from my mouth without conscious thought, each a sharp little dart that found its home in his heart. I hadn't realized until I said it just how angry I still am over that. Hurt? Yes. Heartbroken? Most definitely. But angry? I hadn't thought, hadn't realized until I saw him standing there, trying to justify what he had done to me. It just erupted, a deep well of anger I had not known existed.

He is silent, his only sound the steady mechanical breathing that surrounds him. His shields slam up with my well-aimed words, but I can still feel his confusion. There is so much turmoil inside him right now. It's like looking directly into chaos.

Still, in spite of all of this, in spite of everything that lies between us, both spoken and silent, being in his presence is like peace. I feel safe and protected. Foolish, perhaps. But old habits die hard, and he has always been my protector. He was always willing to do anything and everything to protect me from harm. Ironic, isn't it, that that desire proved to be our undoing? The one thing he failed to protect me from was himself.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter 9

"**_But he did not understand the price. Mortals never do. They only see the prize. Their hearts desire, their dream . . . But the price of getting what you want is getting what you once wanted."_******

_**Neil Gaimen**_

Vader tightened his grip on the controls as he piloted his shuttle through Rakesh's atmosphere. He easily avoided the flashes of lightning as he glided through the heavy storm clouds that hung low over the Dakur mountains.

His skill was evident as he banked to the right, easily avoiding the jagged rocks that jutted up into the sky. Watching him, one would never guess that he was only giving his flying the bare minimum of his attention. His skill was more habit than the result of any real effort. Instead, his thoughts were focused on the reason for this trip.

Padme had been unwilling, or unable, he conceded, to tell him what had happened to her. He knew from experience that pushing her would profit him nothing. Her stubbornness rivaled his own. But then again, he could not just leave the matter lie. He needed to know what had happened to her, if only to still the niggling fears and doubts that taunted the edge of his consciousness. If she would not tell him, he would find out for himself.

Even knowing that Padme would be well cared for, he had been hesitant to leave her. Some small part of him feared that, if he let her from his sight, she would disappear once again.

His ship shuttered slightly as it touched down on the landing strip, where the acting head of the Rakesh facility, Lieutenant Tirche, was waiting.

The ramp slowly lowered, revealing Vader's imposing figure. The howling wind caught his cape as he made his way down the ramp.

"Good day, Milord," Lieutenant Tirche said politely, bowing at the waist.

"Have you done as I requested?"

Tirche nodded before falling into step beside the Dark Lord. "Yes, Milord. I have searched our database for the files you requested. Unfortunately, there does not appear to be any record of the prisoner ever being interred here. In fact, none of the files mention her at all."

Vader stopped and turned to face him. The dim light cast odd shadows on his mask.

"Explain this, Lieutenant."

"I'm not certain, Milord, but it is possible that the files were lost or destroyed during the reclassification. Five years ago, this facility was changed from a political detention center to a maximum security facility. I was not party to the reasons behind the change. The only person who was here during the time of the transfer was Commander Gaversom."

Vader gritted his teeth in frustration. Of course, Commander Gaversom- the one he had killed in a fit of temper.

The Lieutenant jumped backwards as the glowlamps shattered, leaving the corridor in darkness.

Moments later, Vader's voice growled out of the darkness.

"You may return to your duties, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Milord. Might I enquire as to whether you'll be needing anything else?"

"No, I know my way from here."

Vader disappeared down the long corridor, the disconcerted Lieutenant still staring after him.

As Vader stepped into the antechamber of Padme's pit, a cold chill swept across him, followed immediately by a sharp constriction in his chest, as though the very air in his lungs had frozen to ice.

The room was much the same as he had left it, aside from the addition of a drainage pump and a small hoverlift. Vader brushed off the disquieting sensation as he stepped onto the small platform of the hoverlift. The sound of his boots clanking on the metal echoed hollowly in the dark chamber. As the lift slowly lowered into the pit, he could not put off the feeling that he was sinking into the very depths of hell itself.

His skin crawled, and a cold chill crept down his spine, as an overwhelming wave of pain and sorrow washed over him. It was an old echo of the misery, contained within the very walls of the facility. For a moment he thought he could hear the sounds of weeping, a child's voice begging for help. Then, as soon as it had come, it was gone, and the only sounds were the repulsors of the lift, and his own steady breathing.

The lift came to a stop, and Vader simply stood for a moment, examining the dank little pit with the impersonal eyes of his mask. The problem he faced was that he was not impersonal at all. Thinking of Padme here filled him with an intense mixture of anger and guilt. The pit was a bitter reminder of how badly he had failed her. He forced himself to step off of the lift, ignoring the sound of his boots squishing in the mud that now covered the bottom of the pit.

Vader wasted no time in examining the pit, searching for some clue or hint as to what had occurred here.

What he saw filled him with disgust. The idea of Padme, **his** Padme, living in these miserable, squalid conditions increased the blind rage that howled within him, clawing for release.

He walked around the pit again and again, his steps becoming more hurried as his frustration increased.

Nothing! There was nothing here! Nothing in the bare little cell but the threadbare pallet and fresher. He had been so certain that the answer lay on Rakesh. He had felt it.

He continued his circuit of the pit, knowing that there was something he was missing. There had to be.

He moved faster and faster, until he came to a sudden stop, slamming his fist into the harsh stone with a primal cry of rage. The sound of his cry echoed up through the chambers, sending thrills of terror through all who heard it.

He stood, his head bowed, his chest heaving violently as he fought the terrible beast within himself.

Then something caught his eye, a darker patch against the rough blackness of the wall. He crouched lower, the optic sensors of his mask adjusting to make out the rough scratchings in the wall.

His heart clenched painfully as he read the roughly hewn words-"_I am Padme Amidala Skywalker"._

His hand shook slightly as he reached to trace the rough letters. The moment his gloved fingers made contact with the stone, he was assailed by a barrage of feelings and images. He stood in the midst of a raging river of sensation, the last desperate imprint of a mind prepared to die.

Images and sensations swirled around him. Occasionally they would coalesce into something understandable but most of them were too fragmented to grasp.

The images coalesced once again, and Vader went still as the image forced everything else to the background, an image that filled him with a cold, deadly rage that threatened to consume him. His Master, Palpatine, laughing gleefully, his warped face twisted into a grotesque parody of mirth, as he stood over his prey. Padme . . .

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_I felt the warm sun caressing my skin, and the feel of soft grass beneath me. The sound of a child's laughter broke the peaceful stillness. I opened my eyes, searching for the source, and was confronted by a pair of laughing blue eyes, eyes set in the face of a sweet little boy who once asked if I was an angel. _

"_Come on!" Anakin cried as he grasped my hand and tugged me to my feet. _

_The moment I was standing he began to run, pulling me along behind him._

"_Where are we going?" I asked breathlessly as I tried to keep up._

_He simply laughed ,as he looked back at me, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. _

_Anakin began to run faster and faster. The ground flew beneath our feet as I struggled to keep up. _

_A mountain loomed in front of us ,blocking our path, but this did not deter Anakin in the slightest. He simply began to climb the rocky trail that led to the summit, still pulling me in his wake. _

_A sense of disquiet filled me as the path beneath our feet became more narrow and treacherous the higher we went._

"_Anakin, slow down, we need to go back!" I cried breathlessly as I tried to keep my footing._

"_Go back? We can't go back! Look, we're almost there!" _

_He gestured to the summit, which was indeed becoming dangerously close._

_Suddenly ,the rock lurched beneath our feet and I was thrown to the ground as the whole mountain shook violently._

_Anakin screamed and my heart leapt into to my throat as he slipped over the edge. _

_He was hanging on desperately. The only thing keeping him from plummeting to his death was his desperate grip on my hand._

_I tried to pull him back onto the path, but it seemed the more I pulled, the heavier he became. Tears coursed down my cheeks as I desperately tried to keep my grip on him. _

_As I felt him start to slip from my grasp, I felt his other hand clamp over my wrist. I watched, stunned, as his eyes changed from the frightened eyes of a small child, to those of a battle hardened man._

_The ground crumbled beneath me, and I was falling, his hand still grasped in mine._

I awaken with the disconcerting sensation of falling pounding in my chest, the voice of a lost child echoing in my mind.

"_Are you an angel?"_

A gentle hand touches my shoulder, and I force myself to smile slightly as I look up into the concerned face of my nurse, Zallia.

"Are you all right, Milady?" she questions softly.

"I'm all right. Please, do not concern yourself. It was just a dream."

She makes a low sound of discontent. "Hmm, dreams often have hidden meanings, Milady. Memories or portents."

"It was only a dream."

The words of denial slip from my lips, even as a shiver crawls down my spine in remembrance.

"_I won't let this dream come true. I won't lose you the way I lost my mother!"_

I learned the hard way that dreams do not always pass in time.

She looks at me for a moment, before settling into the chair beside my biobed once again, only to leap to her feet as the door slams open with more force than is natural.

Vader strides through the door, crossing the distance between us in two long strides. Power crackles around him, electrifying the air. I almost feel the hair on my arms stand on end.

Zallia wisely retreats, backing away toward the door. A strong sense of self preservation...she's a wise woman.

Vader's gloved hand reaches out to grip my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. His thumb runs over the now fading scar below my lower lip. His caress is soft, containing the intensity of a lover. Unbidden, a thrill of desire courses through me.

I snap my head back in shock, glaring at the source of my annoyance.

His voice is soft, low and dangerous. "Did Palpatine do this to you?"

I do not know what I was expecting, but this was not it. I simply stare at him, surprise written across my features.

"Is Palpatine responsible? Answer me!"

I look at him, my eyes searching for some hint of the man I once knew. I can feel the terrible violence and rage swirling within him. I close my eyes, in a futile attempt to block out the memories that hound me.

That was a mistake.

The moment my eyes close, painful memories wash over me, and a single word slips from my lips.

"Yes."

It is enough.The moment I confirm his Master's treachery, a cold calm overcomes him, like the stillness of a predator before it strikes. I know the violence bubbling beneath the surface will erupt and Palpatine will pay with his life.

For the first time, the contemplation of my husband cold-bloodedly murdering someone does not bother me in the slightest.

"How long? How long were you down there?"

The words feel like lead on my tongue, as I force myself to say what I can barely admit to myself.

"Ten years."

I sit, staring down at my clasped hands, so I do not notice him moving toward me until I feel his arms gripping around my waist and beneath my legs.

A gasp of indignation escapes me as I feel myself lifted into the air.

"What do you think you are doing?" I demand cooly as I pin him with one of my best glares.

The effect is ruined somewhat by the disconcerting closeness of his mask.

"There is no longer any need for you to stay in the medical bay. You've been cleared for release."

"That still doesn't explain why you are carrying me around like a child!"

He ignores me as he uses the Force to open the door, before pushing past Zallia with a curt reminder that he will call her if her services are needed.

"You are still weak. You would not be able to walk to my quarters."

"I would prefer to try."

"And perhaps I would prefer to carry you, Milady."

He says the last with a slight mocking edge, and a lance of pain stabs through my heart in remembrance of far more innocent times, times when he used to tease me, his blue eyes sparkling in amusement.

I clench my eyes tightly, forcing the memories back down inside my heart.

Vader pauses before the exit to the medical bay, and I clutch at his shoulders as he reaches one hand to adjust the clasp of his cape.

I can feel his amusement. He is still gripping me quite easily, his arm like a band of steel around my hips, burning into my flesh. Even so, I can feel the slight cushion of Force energy around me. He will take no chances with my safety, so my concern was unfounded. The dark material of his cape swirls around me, a small shield, as we step out into the brightly lit corridor.

The trip was oddly hypnotic: the sound of his breathing, the swaying sensation, the rhythmic clipping of his boots against the floor, the cocoon of silk that surrounds me.

The sound of the door whooshing open snaps me back to reality. He pulls the cape away from me as he gently sets me on a small couch.

I blink as my eyes adjust to the dim light. Even so, there is not much to see. The room is sparsely furnished. The couch I am sitting on is immediately to the right of the door we came in through. A low table and a holo viewer occupy the rest of the corner. To the left is a small kitchen area, which is separated from the rest of the room by an L shaped counter. Other than that, the room is bare, the standard Imperial grey walls gleaming dully in the dim light.

"I know these quarters are not quite what you are accustomed to, but they will have to do until I can arrange something more permanent."

My first thought, as I register his words, is that I am not 'accustomed' to much of anything anymore. The second was his deliberate use of the word **permanent**.

So, he is planning to keep me with him after all.Truthfully, I had expected as much. I knew that he would not let me go.

'And you really don't want him to,' A small part of my heart whispers mockingly. I squash it ruthlessly, and instead, allow my gaze to roam the room, searching for something to hold my interest. Something other than the oddly disquieting presence of the Sith Lord, who was currently occupied in staring at me intently.

This is one of the many little things that reminds my aching heart that Vader and Anakin are one and the same. From the first day Anakin came back into my life, all those years ago, he watched me. Whenever we were together, I could feel his eyes on me, devouring me.

I once told him that it made me uncomfortable. It did, but not in the way I implied. I liked it, and some perverse part of me still does.

Even so, the fact that I cannot see his eyes behind the opaque lenses of his mask increases the feelings of disquiet that churn in my belly.

A sigh of relief nearly escapes me as my eyes light on the large viewport.

The reason for my relief is twofold. The first being that examining the stars gives me a wonderful excuse to avoid the gaze of my somewhat estranged husband. The second is that, after being locked in that pit, the sight of the open vastness of space is like a soothing balm on the scars that riddle my psyche.

I lean forward slightly and begin to ease myself onto my unsteady feet. Vader moves forward, as if to help me but the warning glare I shoot him stops him in his tracks. Instead he crosses his arms across his chest and I fancy I can almost see the tick of his jaw beneath the helmet, the same expression of barely contained annoyance Anakin wore whenever he felt I was being stubbornly foolish.

My knees almost give out beneath me as sharp tingles of pain burn through my legs. Each step is an agonizing effort. I ruefully admit that he was right; I would not have been able to make it all the way to his quarters.

Still I am determined to do this, so I laboriously make my way toward the viewport, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain that jolt through my legs with every step.

The journey across the room feels like it takes an eternity, but in actuality it takes only a few minutes. By the time I reach the viewport, my whole body is shaking, and I am sweating from the effort.

My fingers grasp the ledge, my knuckles white. For a moment, the stars seem to spin, fading into black dots. Then I feel the presence of a steadying hand against my shoulder. Instinctively, I lean back against his chest, a place I still subconsciously associate with safety and comfort.

He is momentarily surprised by this, but he recovers quickly. His arms wrap around me tightly, and we stand, both of us staring out into the vast array of stars that are slowly moving past us.

Part of me wants to push away from him, but I don't, because right now I need to be held, need to feel his arms around me, and know that I am not alone, need him to keep the shadows and nightmares at bay.

Nothing has changed. We are both still poised on the edge of a deep ravine, a ravine of our own making. It was cracked with absence, lies and betrayal: Palpatine the one with the chisel. Each of us, poised on opposite ends of the precipice, wanting to reach for the other but knowing that the gap that lies between us is far too wide to jump.

I don't know what will happen now, or where we will go from here. I feel a single tear stream down my cheek as I realize that as much as he cannot release me, I cannot let go. I need him, as he needs me, and that is both my salvation and the crux of my destruction.

I love him. Heaven help me, I wish I did not, but I do. So, where does that leave me now?

In Time

by Mark Collie

I can hear what you're thinking,  
All your doubts and fears,  
And if you look in my eyes, in time you'll find,  
The reason I'm here.

And in time all things shall pass away,  
In time, you may come back someday.To live once more, or die once more,  
But in time, your time will be no more.

You know your days are numbered,  
Count them one by one,  
Like notches in the handle of an outlaw's gun.  
You can outrun the devil, if you try,  
But you'll never outrun the hands of time.

In time there surely, come a day  
In time all things shall pass away,  
In time you may come back some say.  
To live once more, or die once more,  
But in time, your time will be no more.


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter 10

"**Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."**

_**Neil Gaimen**_

The softly twinkling stars have long since faded into the blurred lines of hyperspace and still we stand, neither of us moving to break the tentative peace that settles around us like a cloak.

I cannot say quite how long we have been standing here. I've lost myself in existing, a habit formed during my long years of solitude.

Despite the unspoken distance that lies between us, there is something comfortingly familiar about standing this way, his arms around my waist. We have often stood like this, existing in that small space, while the rest of the galaxy faded away. But, that was before, before all the lies and betrayal formed brittle barriers between us.

Thinking in this vein reminds me of his all too brief visits during the war, memories that I clutch to my heart like priceless jewels, each one unbearably precious.

How I missed him when he was gone! Every night I would pray for him and his safe return. I loved him then, desperately, as he loved me. Some nights I couldn't sleep, having heard of some great conflict, and fearing for his safety.

During the war, my intelligence system rivaled the Senate's. Even so, my heart would leap in my chest with a thrill of joy whenever I would feel his tentative touch on my mind. It was his way of letting me know that he was in the system, and would be coming home soon, coming home to me.

I must confess some dereliction in my duties where he was concerned. More then once, I switched places with a decoy, or pleaded some ailment to excuse myself from senatorial duties. I would rush back to our apartment to await his arrival, knowing that he too was doing his best to slip away from his duties.

The moment I spotted his fighter approaching my balcony, all of this melted into insignificance. He would leap out of his ship before it had even finished the shut down procedures, and run to me, clasping me tightly in his arms. We were like two people starved, desperate for the sight and feel of one another. It was never enough, could never be enough.

Many of my gowns were lost to this need, ripped ruins of silk and velvet, lying in forgotten piles on the floor. Anakin was never a patient man, and in this circumstance neither was I. We both needed to feel one another, to revel in that visceral reminder of life. He had survived, he had returned to me. Afterwards, he would hold me like this, his chin resting in my hair, content to simply rest in my presence.

I slowly slide back to reality, the illusion of familiarity not holding up to the harsh light of reality. It's not the same, being held by Vader. He is taller, broader, and I feel hard leather against me instead of warm skin. The face I loved is concealed by the mask, a mask I find I am growing to hate, more for what it conceals than what it represents.

A desperate need overcomes me. I need to know, need to see his face, need to look him in the eye and resolve for myself, once and for all, who he is. Man or monster, I MUST know.

I pull away from him slightly, and his arm tightens briefly, before reluctantly releasing me. I step away from him and gather my composure before turning to face him once again.

I do not pause to think, merely speak the first words that come to mind. "Show me your eyes."

He is taken off guard by my demand. "What?"

"Take your mask off. I need to see your eyes." Desperation claws at my throat, as I fight to control the tears that want to pool in my eyes. "Please..."

The minutes tick by, and once again I curse the unreadable mask. Just as I begin to think he will deny my request, he curtly nods the affirmative, before turning and walking away from me.

I silently follow him into the adjoining chamber and watch as a small droid floats at his bidding to help him remove the restrictive layers of his suit.

The moments that follow pass in a dreamlike quality, as I watch the outer shell of Vader peel away, revealing what lies beneath. It is one of those moments when time seems to slow down, each second ticking by like an hour, every detail of the utmost importance.

The mask snaps off with an odd hiss of decompressed air being released, and I can see the back of his head. His skin is pale, and I can see several thin, white lines of scar tissue running down the back of his head and under the neck of his suit. His hair is cropped short, like it was when he was a padawan, only this time there is no braid, no bond or vow to hold him.

He undoes the fastenings and begins to peel off the outer-suit, revealing the under tunic. The shirt pulls taut, and I can see the strong muscles of his back clearly outlined through the light material.

Tension radiates off of him like pulse waves, nearly concealing the underlying fear and embarrassment, as he turns to face me. I brace myself, mentally prepared for the worst. No matter how bad it is, I will not let him see it in my face or eyes.

I will not.

It is not nearly as bad as I expected. His eyes are closed, and I know he doesn't want to see my face. He is afraid of my reaction. The scar he had when I last knew him is still there, a pale knotted line of scar tissue. There are a few others, thin and silvery in the dim lighting of the chamber. His skin is unnaturally pale, most likely from lack of sun than any permanent damage. But these things are superficial and matter little to me. I am not repulsed by him, as he, and I will admit a small part of me, feared. He is still my husband. Now, in this moment, I cannot see him as a monster or a killer, though I know to many he is both.

He is still, his muscles tense, waiting for the rejection he is so sure I will give him. As none come,s his eyes slowly open, and I can see the rich deep blue of them.

This is Anakin. This is my husband.

It strikes me then, like a vicious blow to my heart. He is both Anakin and Vader; the man and the monster. My delusions shatter. In truth there is no distinction, and there never was. The pain in my heart is almost crippling, forcing me to accept the truth. I cannot hate one and love the other. There is no other to hate, only him, only the man.

So where does that leave me now?

My knees give out under the dual weights of shock and long held sorrow. My thoughts are scattered, my emotions, even more so. My head rests on my knees as hollow shockwaves of pain and sorrow wash over me, causing my body to shake with their intensity. Long moments pass in this state, and I almost forget his presence.

I nearly jump when I feel a warm hand settle on my shoulder. My eyes travel up from his innocently bared feet, over the hard length of his reconstructed legs, the broad chest and shoulders, and finally up to his face. His eyes are bright with unshed tears, the brilliant blue of his eyes, the ones that haunt my dreams. The concern and sorrow is clearly etched on his face, even if I could not feel the echoes of it through our bond. I feel cold and numb. Reaching up I grasp his hand almost desperately, like a lifeline. The fingers of my other hand trail over his much larger one, examining it thoughtfully. It's a good re-creation. I can scarcely tell the difference. In fact, if I didn't know the truth, I would never believe that beneath the smooth flesh lies wires and electrodes, not bone and sinew.

A pang of sorrow fills me at the loss. A foolish thing to mourn perhaps, but there it is. As good a re-creation as they are, these are not his hands. It is not his skin against mine, not his warmth.

I always loved his hands, the long elegant fingers and strong palms, a wonderful contradiction of smooth flesh and calluses from long hours wielding a lightsabre. Hands that could create or build almost anything. Hands that could touch and caress so gently and powerfully. Hands that could protect and defend. Hands that could destroy.

A hot rush of anger courses through me, pushing away the numbness that threatens to overwhelm me once again.

"How could you...? Why did you do it?"

His shields slam up as he rises to his feet, pulling away from me. He doesn't ask what I mean. He knows, and perhaps more importantly, he knows that I am aware of it.

"You know why. I told you before, I did it to save you."

Another burst of anger blossoms in my chest with his words, and I pull myself to my feet. Even as I begin to speak, I know that what happens now will affect everything that follows. If Anakin and I are ever to have a chance at redemption, we must get past this, no matter how much it hurts.

"If saving me was so important to you, that you would destroy everything we had worked for, than why did you attack me on Mustafar? No, it wasn't just to save me. Perhaps on some level it was, but we both know there was far more to it than that."

The pacing begins, a sure sign that he is becoming agitated. Part of me relishes this, wants to see how far I can push him before he loses control, wants to see whether or not he has learned anything during our separation.

"The Republic was dying. It was a crippled, stagnant beast that would have pulled us all down with it if Palpatine had not stepped in..."

The words he speaks have the sense of something often repeated- a close held mantra, like he is trying to convince himself and not just me. Perhaps I am not the only one clinging desperately to fading delusions.

"I was wondering when you would mention that. You're right, the Republic was crippled, and Palpatine was the one who crippled it. He was behind everything all along! The invasion of Naboo, the clones, the war... Everything! And you helped him strike the killing blow. That is what tears me apart inside! You helped to destroy everything I worked for. Everything you fought for...Gone! Destroyed in an instant of blind servitude."

He sighed and clenched his jaw stubbornly. "It is not as simple as it seems. He is... was, my master. I committed myself to the Sith, and to him. I swore a vow..."

White-hot anger courses through my veins, and my hands are clenched so tightly that I can feel the sharp half-moons of my fingernails biting into my palms. The tight control of my temper snaps, and I lash out, wanting to hurt him as badly as he has hurt me.

"You swore a vow to me! Or did our wedding vows mean so little? You promised you would love, honor and protect me, and as far as I can see you've broken all of those vows. Just as you broke your vows to the Jedi."

He simply stares at me for a moment, stunned by my accusations. Then his own temper flashes, and he closes the distance between us, grasping my biceps in a punishing grip. He towers over me and I can see the anger flashing in his eyes.

"You're right, I broke my vows. I broke my vows to the Jedi, and even you cannot deny, that that, at least, I did for you. And yes, I failed to protect you, another burden that is mine to carry. And perhaps I dishonored you by aiding in the Republic's destruction. I will not argue that, but do not dare to tell me that I didn't love you! I loved you more than anything in this universe. I would have died for you, and gladly killed for you. May my soul be damned for it, but I would do far worse things to protect you. I would tear the entire galaxy apart to save you."

He releases me and pauses, breathing heavily. When he speaks again, it is softer, and far more pained.

"I grieved for you. I thought you had died. I thought I had killed you, as well as our child, and I died inside. There was not a day in the past ten years that I did not mourn your loss. I know I made mistakes, and I know I failed you. But don't you say I didn't love you! Don't you say it!"

My eyes search his, somewhat stunned by his words. Part of me wants to throw myself into his arms and forget all of this, but I haven't finished yet. Something still lay between us.

"You died inside? You grieved? So did I. Every day, every moment since I last saw you on Mustafar. I grieved for the Jedi, I grieved for the Senate, I grieved for the younglings that you murdered, I grieved for the life we had lost, and yes, I grieved for you. You say you thought me dead? I very nearly was. I came closer to death than I should have, and not nearly as close as I would like. And our children... I hated you for that. Because of you, and the decisions you made, my arms are empty. I was not allowed to watch my children grow. I did not get to see them smile, or learn to speak. I never got to watch them take their first steps..."

My throat constricts painfully, and I pause before continuing.

"Instead I lied alone in that damned medical center, clutching a pillow to my chest, trying to stop the ache in my arms that cried out for them. There were days afterwards when I prayed for death. I prayed for it! I had nothing to live for, nothing! You took it from me. You destroyed everything I held dear...even yourself."

He looks so stricken that I want to go to him and soothe him, the way I always have, but I do not. My feet feel rooted to the floor as I wait for him to speak.

His eyes close, and I wait silently as he gathers his composure. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, he is interrupted by the insistent beeping of the comm.

He blinks at me in surprise for a moment, and then shakes his head as though to clear it. His bare feet slap against the metal plating of the deck as he stalks over to the comm.

"What?" he snarls harshly.

"I apologize for disturbing you, Milord, but we will be arriving in orbit around Coruscant shortly."

He bit off a rather nasty curse before replying, "Very well, I will be on the bridge shortly."

"Very good, Milord."

He turns to look at me for a moment, his face unreadable. "I have to go oversee our arrival, and attend to a few matters. Will you be alright on your own?"

My heart leaps into my chest at his words, the instantaneous panic at the thought of being alone. Out of sheer stubbornness I squash the feeling, determined not to let him know how badly I do not want him to go.

"I'll go with you."

"No. You are still recovering..."

"I am fine. I'm feeling much stronger, and I would much rather accompany you than stay here."

I have been cooped up for far to long as it is, and besides, I do not have any desire to be left alone in the sterile tomblike rooms of Vader's quarters.

"I'm going to be on the bridge, dealing with the officers. You are not dressed to be walking about a military vessel," He says firmly, as he looks pointedly at my white medical gown.

He is right on that aspect, at least. It would not do for me to be seen on the bridge, in what is, essentially, a shift.

"I will manage something," I reply stubbornly.

Half an hour later, I find myself hurrying to keep up with my husband's long strides. True to my word, I am respectably, if somewhat irregularly, attired in a sort of gown, made from one of his capes.

After a few unsatisfactory attempts, I put the cape on backwards, fastening the chain behind my neck and wrapped the voluminous folds around my body before twisting the long ends up behind my back, and pulling them up over my shoulders to create a sort of shawl. With my hair pulled back, I think the effect was quite elegant, if I do say so myself. My husband was not quite as amused, and made his displeasure at my stubborness quite clear. But, as I am here and not genuflecting back in his quarters, I think it's rather obvious how that discussion turned out.

My eyes are still not quite used to the bright lights that surround us, so the long corridors of the Executor pass in a sort of blur. Still, I cannot help but be fascinated by the thrum of life that surges around us. The troopers, officers, and engineers move in a sort of choreographed dance, each doing their part in this well-oiled machine.

Vader stops in front of the open doors of a lift and gestures for me to enter. He follows behind me, the doors slide shut with a soft hiss. The short ride to the bridge passes in an awkward silence, so I am almost relieved when the lift comes to a stop.

That relief is short lived. As we step onto the large command center, the buzz of activity slowly dies away, like a wave passing outward. I can feel every eye in the room boring into me, and I fight the urge to step back into the protective shelter of my husband. Instead, I square my shoulders and lift my chin with every ounce of dignity I learned during my years as Queen.

I can feel Anakin move up behind me, the steady breathing of his mask oddly reassuring. As though his movement was a cue, everyone in the room suddenly became very busy with whatever they had been doing before we entered.

His large, gloved hand closes gently on my arm, and we walk toward the front of the bridge where a group of officers stands, politely waiting to be acknowledged.

I watch in silent amusement at the bobbing bows, and chorus of 'My Lords'. Anakin simply nods in acknowledgment, the bright lights of the bridge gleaming of the sharp lines of his mask.

The first officer, an admiral judging from his uniform, turns to me and flashes me a particularly unpleasent smile. I can feel Anakin tense beside me as the man begins to speak.

"And who might this enchanting creature be?" He asks in a disgustingly smarmy tone.

I glance at my husband in amusement as I feel the rush of consternation that surges across our bond. When he finally speaks his voice is tight with annoyance.

"Padme Amidala..."

"Skywalker," I interject shooting Anakin a particularly provoking smile. "...His wife."

The wave of shock that washes through the room is amusing, but not nearly as amusing as the look of horrified shock on the officer's face.

"Your wife?" he splutters as he turns to Anakin for confirmation.

I can feel a light breeze blowing over my skin and the edges of my dress start to blow back and forth. I realize, with a slight jolt of surprise, that it is Anakin, manipulating the air in an attempt to control his temper.

"Yes, Tarkin. My wife. Now did you have anything else of importance to say, or are you just going to stand there all day gaping like a fish?"

He grabs my arm, gently but firmly, and pulls me along beside him as he marches toward a large door. The door slides open to reveal a spacious conference room. Anakin gently puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes me down onto the nearest chair.

I feel a slight surge of irritation. I'm getting a bit tired of being pushed and pulled around like a doll. I begin to say so, but bite my tongue as Tarkin swiftly marches in behind us, his face pinched in obvious disapproval. He is followed, much more hesitantly, by an obviously nervous officer.

Surprisingly, the officer is the one who breaks the tense silence."Milord, we will be arriving in orbit around Coruscant in half an hour, and your shuttle is being prepared for launch, as you requested."

"Very good, Captain Piett. You may return to your duties," Anakin says curtly.

Captain Piett nods gratefully before making a hasty retreat back to the command center.

Tarkin turns to my husband and begins to speak, his tone oily and ingratiating. "Milord, before you go I would like to discuss the 'situation' with the Rebels... If that is convenient, of course."

I whip my head to face Tarkin, a wary curiosity foremost in my mind. Judging from the tension radiating from my husband, I won't like where this is headed.

"Rebels, Admiral?" I query cooly.

Tarkin frowns at me coldly before speaking. "Yes, a treasonous group of dissidents, little more than rabble. Nothing to concern yourself with, Madam."

"Treasonous? In what way?"

"They openly defy the authority of the Emperor..."

"That is not treason."

Tarkin looks at me in horrified shock, before spluttering a response. "He is their Emperor, as he is yours, lest you forget it."

A snort of amusement escapes me. "He may be yours, but he is not mine. I owe him no allegiance."

Tarkin's face flushes red with anger, and moves as though to strike me, but before he can do more than raise his hand he is lifted into the air and thrown hard against the bulkhead.

I jump to my feet as Anakin crosses the room and lifts the stunned admiral into the air by his throat.

Tarkin's face is beginning to change color as he splutters and claws at the gloved fist that is clamped around his throat.

"Anakin!" I cry, but he doesn't appear to hear me.

I cross the room and lay my hand on his arm before saying his name again. This time he turns his masked face to look at me.

"Let him go, Anakin. It's not worth it, he's not worth it."

I care little what happens to Tarkin, but the darkness that threatens to engulf my husband terrifies me. I can feel him trembling beneath my hand, the violent rage boiling within him. The seconds tick by like hours and Tarkin's struggles become weaker.

Then, as though a switch has been thrown, the gloved fingers release and Tarkin falls in an unconscious heap to the floor.

Anakin is still shaking violently as he turns to me, and to my surprise, pulls me firmly to his chest, holding me tight against him.

I stand still for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then I push aside my conflicting thoughts and instead, allow my instincts to guide me.

I slowly bring my arms up around him. Even as I do, his trembling begins to ease and the terrifying rage that almost consumed him slowly begins to fade.

I do not fully understand what has just occurred, and I am not sure that he does either. So much has occurred in the last two days that I scarcely know how to process it. Perhaps he too is feeling overwhelmed by all that has happened. It doesn't matter, I suppose. For now, I simply hold onto him, as he holds onto me.

And that is enough, that is everything.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter 11**

"**Until a person can say deeply and honestly, "I am what I am today because of the choices I made yesterday," that person cannot say, "I choose otherwise."**

Stephen R. Covey

"**When we forgive evil we do not excuse it, we do not tolerate it, we do not smother it. We look the evil full in the face, call it what it is, let its horror shock, stun and enrage us, and only then do we forgive it."**

**Lewis B. Smedes**

The sound of the conference room door sliding open startles us, causing Anakin and I to jump apart almost guiltily. Funny, isn't it, how these habits are ingrained into our very being. Even after all this time, the habits learned during our all too brief time together still control our actions.

As this thought crosses my mind, I can't help but wonder . . . What other defenses are merely habit, and nothing more?

My eyes dart to the door, just in time to see Captain Piett's face suffuse with a rather interesting shade of red, and then blanche completely when his nervously shifting eyes light on the unconscious Admiral.

"We, . . . We have arrived, Milord," he says, his voice only slightly unsteady.

Anakin remains silent, his implacable gaze focused on the nervously shifting Captain.

Moving forward, I lay a hand on his arm once again, a subtle reminder. He looks at me, the harsh lighting glinting off the unreadable mask. The sense I get from him is odd . . . something I can't quite put my finger on.

The bond between us has been slowly strengthening since the moment he first touched me, like a rubber band growing tighter every moment, and now the perceptions I receive from him are clearer than before, but still like an image seen through foggy glass. There, but indistinct. It is through this bond that I feel a slight surge of disappointment.

My eyes widen involuntarily as I realize that Anakin was **enjoying** intimidating the Captain.

The look in my eyes must have been rather censorious, because the disappointment is quickly followed by a wave of resignation.

A small smile lurks about my lips as he turns to face the Captain once again. I can almost see him rolling his eyes in resignation. He was never one to surrender gracefully.

"Very well, Captain, I assume my shuttle is ready for launch," he says, his dark voice rumbling stiffly.

"Yes, Milord, it is waiting for you whenever you are ready."

"Good. After I leave, you are to transmit a quarantine warning. This vessel is on complete lock-down. No one is to leave or board this vessel, and no transmissions are to be sent or received. Do I make myself clear, Captain?"

"P... Perfectly, Milord." I can tell he wants to question this, but knows better then to push his luck.

Anakin nods curtly, before putting his arm to my back and gently escorting me past the Captain.

Just as the door is about to close behind us, he turns back.

"Captain, have someone throw Tarkin into a containment cell, he's overstepped himself one too many times."

The door closes on the baffled Captain, and Anakin once again escorts me through the gauntlet of curiously peering eyes that follow us across the room. Such is the feeling of being dissected that I breathe a small sigh of relief as the doors to the lift close behind us.

The lift comes to a stop and Anakin steps from it, pulling me along beside him. He appears to be lost in thought as he hurries me down the empty corridor, his grip on my arm firm but not uncomfortable. Still, I have had just about enough of being towed around like a child.

"Anakin!"

He doesn't respond to my use of his name, neither does he seem to be aware of the persistent tugging of my hand. His grip on me is too strong to be broken, even though his hand is not tightly closed about my arm, it's like a band of steel, immovable.

Concern and annoyance war within me as I alternately try pulling on my arm and calling to him. I even try to stop in place but nearly fall on my face as he continues forward.

We come to a stop before the lift, and still he doesn't acknowledge my persistent tugging. Finally I give into my frustration and deliver a sharp kick to his shin. That did it.

His head turns toward me sharply, and I can sense his shock and incredulity through our bond.

"Did you just kick me?"

I smile sweetly up at him before speaking in a deliberately saccharine tone. "Yes, and now that I have your attention would you kindly let go of my arm, and stop towing me around as though I were a child."

"My apologies," he says stiffly, as he releases my arm.

I'm tempted to ask him what is going on in that head of his, but I do not think he would tell me if I asked. He's become too good at keeping secrets.

The rest of the trip to the hanger passes in a blur of grey and white. Hallways and passages blurring into a muddled image in my mind. I can't help but wonder how Anakin ever manages to find his way in the stark corridors where one looks much the same as the other.

The hanger is not much different; high grey walls, sterile and cold like everything else I have encountered aboard the Executor. The various craft in the hanger bay lack the class and smooth lines from my time. All are in shades of black and grey, no art, no joy, no life. An icy shiver crawls down my spine, and I wrap my arms about myself, as though there was a sudden chill in the air.

Anakin comes to a stop at the ramp of one of the shuttles. Lke the rest it is an ugly shade of grey, all hard angles, and sharp lines.

I feel a measure of relief as Vader follows me up the ramp and it retracts. We are leaving this place, and to be honest I am glad. So much has been happening, and it is all still so very unreal.

Except for Anakin. He is real; the only thing I am certain of, and that frightens me more than it should. Even though my feelings about my husband have been becoming clearer, and less tangled, they are still so full of contradictions and hidden hurts that I do not know how I will respond to him from one moment to the next. There are times when I want to strike him, claw at him until I draw blood, and then there are times when I want to hold him to my bosom and soothe him as I would a child. There are times when I want to hurt him, to punish him for what he has done, to me, to the galaxy. But at the same time, I do not want to see him harmed and I know that if anyone were to try to harm him I would stand against them to my last breath.

And that's the crux of it I suppose. I love him. Blindly, madly, painfully, I love him. Love doesn't have conditions. It's not, 'I love you if', or 'I love you as long as'. It's, 'I love you'. No exceptions. No matter what lies between us, no matter what he has done, I still love him, and I know I always will.

I look up, startled at Anakin's touch on my arm. He gestures toward the copilot's seat silently, and I slowly sink into the soft cushions. He starts to reach over to fasten the safety belt, but I give him a reproving look and he steps back, instead busying himself with the pre-flight procedures.

The shuttle hums to life around us and the small vibrations course through me as Anakin's fingers nimbly fly across the controls. The shuttle slowly exits the hulking behemoth that is the Executor and Anakin executes a sharp turn bringing us up and over the grey hull.

And then... then Coruscant looms in front of us, a huge glittering jewel hanging in the sky.

I can feel a lump forming in my throat at the memory of what that world represents. Memories claw at my mind, bringing tears to my eyes, but I stubbornly push them back down inside of me. Now is not the time to wallow in pain and self-pity.

I turn, feeling Anakin's eyes on me. Through our bond I can tell that he is distracted, lost in his own thoughts.

"What?" I query softly.

"I was just thinking about the first time I saw you." He pauses for a moment before continuing.

"I thought you were the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I was enamored with you from the first, and then . . . then you smiled at me. I will never forget that smile as long as I live. The image of you standing in that filthy little shop is as fresh in my mind as if it happened yesterday. We were separated not long after that, but ten years later we were reunited once again. For me it was as if nothing had changed, you were even more beautiful than I remembered. Then you smiled at me again, and you had my heart. And now . . . "

He pauses, whether to gather control, or to brace himself for what he is to say next, I could not say.

"Now, here we are, and another ten years have been stolen from us, and I'm realizing that I would do anything to have you smile at me like that again."

My heart clenches painfully in my chest. And I release a heavy sigh before speaking softly, "What do you want from me, Anakin?"

"I want you to forgive me. I want you to look at me the way you once did! I want everything to be as it was before . . . "

The anguish emanating from him in waves is nearly my undoing.

"Things can never be as they were, Anakin. There is too much that lies between us for things to ever be the way they were."

My words are not without regret.

"Do you think I don't know that? Do you think that I wouldn't take everything back if I could? I can't. This is me! This is what I've become!"

"This may be what you have become, Anakin, but it's not you. Your actions don't define you anymore now then they did then. You've made choices, and you're still making them. But you are not Vader, Anakin. If you were, I would not be sitting here right now. And yet, here I am, in spite of all logic, and all reason.

"By all rights I should have died in that pit Anakin . . . but I didn't. Against all logic, you found me, and you saved my life. So you're right, here we are ten years later, and the question, for me at least, is, what have you learned in those years, Anakin? Can you face what you've done? Can you move past it? Or are you going to stay on this course that Palpatine set you on all those years ago . . . "

"And if I do? If nothing can change, and this is really what I am? What then? What will you do then?"

I look at him, my own sorrow carefully masked behind a calm facade.

"You know the answer to that, Anakin. You knew before you even asked."

The gloved hand smashes down on the wall panel so heavily, that the panel rends around it.

"I won't lose you again," he says in a voice harsh with anger and pain.

My own throat constricts painfully, but the words still slip from my tongue, easy as water and sharp as glass.

"You lost me a long time ago."

"Don't say that!"

"Say what? The truth? You lost me the moment you made your choice. At the time we were both to busy denying the fact that our bond was slipping through our fingers to realize it had already been cut.

"Do you know what really caused me to pull away from you on Mustafar? Not what you had done, not what you were saying, though they most certainly contributed to it. It was the look in your eyes, it was knowing that you didn't just kill those people, you enjoyed it. There was a mad fever in your eyes, Anakin, and if I had stayed, if I had allowed myself to stay for even a moment, it would have consumed us both."

I pause for a moment, chest heaving with remembered pain and anger.

"You still cannot face what you have done, can you? You can't accept that what happened was no one's fault but your own."

He begins to speak then, desperately justifying himself, blaming everyone but himself for the mistakes of the past.

"No! No more of this, Anakin! You can't keep blaming everyone else for what you've done! It's always been someone else, Anakin. I won't deny that we all made mistakes, all of us. The Council, Obi-wan,myself. I will admit that readily. But you still chose, Anakin, YOU made the decision to do what you did. YOU chose to fall, YOU chose to murder the Jedi, YOU chose to choke me. Palpatine may have manipulated you, and yes I do think he deserves to pay for his part in all of this, but in the end, Anakin, it was still you. It always was."

He says nothing, and though I try, I cannot feel anything from him through his barriers. He turns from me and begins to man the controls once more, almost mechanically. He does not say another word, or so much as acknowledge my presence, as he brings us in through the atmosphere of Coruscant.

He skillfully brings us into a small landing strip, and set's the shuttle down with hardly a shudder. The ship powers down around us, and the silence is almost unbearable. Then, it breaks, and he says the one thing I never expected him to say.

"You're right..." he pauses, and I stare it him, shock evident on my features.

"It was my decision. I thought I was doing what was best for us, but I was just lying to myself. Maybe I knew from the first that I would lose you, only I didn't want to admit it. I made myself believe that I could save you, that I would be strong enough, and powerful enough to keep you safe...I was wrong. I still lost you. I still hurt you, and I destroyed everything we had... could have had.

'I don't know what else I can say to you. I was wrong. I think I've known that for a long time now, only I didn't want to admit it. If I admitted that I was wrong, then everything I did was for nothing. I guess I just realized that, whether I acknowledge it or not, it was still for nothing. There's nothing more I can say to you. I have no excuses that you haven't heard, no defenses."

The first shock passes, and I carefully get up from my seat and move toward him. Acting on instinct I reach out gently and pull off the top of his mask, and then the face plate. Taking his hand in mine I crouch before him. His head hangs in shame and tears run down his cheeks, a broken king sitting on a hollow throne.

Reaching up, I gently wipe the tears from his cheeks. He raises his head slightly, and his eyes peer into mine, the rich blue orbs clouded with bewilderment. My heart clenches painfully, and for a moment we're back in that dingy garage on Tatooine, and all I want to do is hold him.

His eyes continue to search my face almost desperately, and then he reaches for me, pulling me to him. His hand tangles in my hair, the other tight around my waist, as he balances me on his knees.

I gently press his head to my shoulder, my fingers stroking the back of his head soothingly, and let him cry out his guilt and remorse for what he has done. The wall has broken and what will happen now I do not know.

Perhaps it is only because of his reminder earlier, but my words from so long ago echo tauntingly in my mind.

"_You'll always be that little boy I knew on Tattooine!"_

Yet another thing I was wrong about. It seems the little boy I once knew, has finally become a man.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter 12

"All we have to believe with is our senses, the tools we use to perceive the world: our sight, our touch, our memory. If they lie to us, then nothing can be trusted. And even if we do not believe, then still we cannot travel in any other way than the road our senses show us; and we must walk that road to the end."

Neil Gaimen

I sit, comfortably ensconced in my chair, as I stare blindly out the window, fingers abstractedly tapping out on odd rhythm on the arm of my chair.

Anakin has gone to bring around a speeder, and to make sure that there is no one about who might see me and report my presence to the Emperor.

My eyes drift over to the now empty pilots chair, my mind idly going over what had just occurred.

I honestly had not expected him to admit his culpability so easily. He is as at least as stubborn as I am, if not more so. So, the notion of him admitting, both out loud and to himself, that he, and he alone, was responsible for his actions, was inconceivable.

When you've been lying to yourself for so long, it's only too easy to go on doing so.

'Isn't it though,' a voice whispers mockingly deep inside my mind.

My jaw clenches tightly as I am forced once again to face that which I would prefer to ignore.

I am afraid, terrified even, and I can't even tell why. All I know is that the idea of setting foot on Coruscant again fills me with a dread so strong that I almost feel as though I will be ill.

I have not set foot on Coruscant in over ten years, and to be honest, would have been more than happy to avoid it for another ten, if not indefinitely. My eyes close in a futile attempt to calm the flock of mynocks that has taken up residence in my stomach.

My eyes snap back open at the sound of Anakin's voice calling to me.

Blinking, I bring my surroundings back into focus, and realize belatedly that my hands are gripping the armrests of my chair, the fingers white-knuckled as they dig into the soft material.

I deliberately force my fingers to unclench themselves, and rise, a trifle unsteadily, to my feet.

Breathing deeply, I brace myself, before stubbornly moving myself forward, one step, two...and then I'm at the ramp, looking down to where my husband waits expectantly.

I take another deep breath, and with a last longing look at the relative sanctuary of the shuttle, walk determinedly down the ramp, and set foot on Coruscant, for the first time in over ten years.

Anakin's hand settles on my shoulder, tentative as a lighting bird. I glance up reassuringly and place my hand over his, giving it a slight squeeze of reassurance.

I am alright, and for a moment, I think that perhaps this is true. I am fine, and everything will be okay. But as we walk to the waiting speeder, a sense of dread washes over me, and I know deep in the pit of my stomach, that once again I will be proven wrong.

Anakin's hand cradles my elbow gently as he helps me into the sleek black speeder, the door sliding shut behind me. Moments later, Anakin enters from the other side, easily settling into the drivers seat despite his large frame.

A small smile lurks about my lips as I watch him pilot the speeder away from the landing pad. The smile is in part from my own memories of our short time together, which surprisingly enough, in this moment, do not cause me much pain. But mostly the smile is caused by the feelings of exhilaration I caught from him.

Anakin always loved to fly. He told me once that when he was flying he felt free, utterly and completely. The only other place he felt that feeling of peace and freedom was in my arms, and in my bed.

He once tried to explain it to me, I remember it vividly. In fact, it was on what I suppose was technically our honeymoon, if you could call three all to brief days a honeymoon. Even so, I wouldn't trade those three days with him for the most lavish honeymoon money could buy.

We were lying in bed, replete for the time being. I was curled into his side, and his hand was absently stroking my waist. In those days he was always touching me, like he wasn't quite sure I was real, and had to constantly touch me to reaffirm my presence.

Both of us were new to this physical side of intimacy, and we were still basking in the glow of discovery. Anakin, especially. Perhaps his feelings were due to the lack of touch in his own life. After he was taken from his mother, he was placed in an environment that, while certainly caring, was not one to foster feelings of love and affection. Being an extremely physical and tactilary person by nature, Anakin felt the lack keenly.

He told me that when we were together in that way, he felt complete, sated and at peace, for the first time in his life. For lack of a better analogy, he awkwardly compared it to the exhilaration and freedom of flying.

I teased him about that mercilessly, pretending to be offended that he would compare his time in my bed to flight. In truth, it didn't bother me in the least. When he spoke to me, with that light of joy and wonder in his eyes, I understood it for the compliment it was.

Even when he realized that I was teasing him, he insisted on making amends in his own way. He promised that the next day he would take me flying, and show me what he meant. I laughed it off and it was not long before we were eagerly entwined once again.

Anakin kept his promise, and the next day we took my speeder out into the hills of Naboo. Anakin had me take the controls, placing my fingers on them with his own hands covering mine, his chest flush against my back.

We flew together, our hands moving till I scarcely new who was guiding whom. For the first time, he opened himself to me completely. It was almost overwhelming, being surrounded by the intensity of his love, but at the same time it was also reassuring. As we flew, his exhilaration flowed over into me, filling me with a sort of buoyancy. The passion that flew between us mingling with the exhilaration and joy of the day, to create an feeling I have never, to this day, been able to reclaim.

It was only a day after that when Anakin first had to leave me. It scarcely seemed fair that we only had those few precious days together. It never was, of course.

I reminded myself, again and again, that I knew going into this marriage that things would be this way. Still, in the early days, it was bitterly hard.

Thinking on that has no purpose now...still I can't help allowing my thoughts to return to my memories of our time together.

In those first days, we loved with the innocence and curiosity of new lovers, learning each other until we almost knew the other better then ourselves.

Anakin made love to me with an unflagging joy and passion, an innocence that was endearing in its tenderness. His eyes were clea,r filled with passion and love. There were no secrets between us, no awkward silences. In those days, we were as yet unskilled and too new to each other to contemplate much else.

Later, when Anakin returned from the wars, that innocence was lost- yet another casualty of a pointless war.

The first time I realized that it was gone was on one of his all to infrequent furloughs. He came to me and loved me almost desperately. The passion was, as always intense. Still, I couldn't help but feel something was missing. It was not until later that night that I realized what it was. The bright eyed innocense was gone, and that night I wept silently into my pillow for the loss of the boy I had married.

Still, his loving was intoxicating, single minded, focused completely on the task he set for himself. He loved me then, with a passion that was almost unnerving at times, the intensity almost to much to bear.

During our last days together, when he loved me, the possessiveness he had always exhibited grew to almost disturbing lengths. It was as though he were more claiming me, possessing me with a ferocity born of some deep seated need, or fear.

It is only now that I realize that this claiming was yet another desperate attempt to hold on to me, to keep me from slipping away from him.

I do not know why I think on this now, Maybe it's being on Coruscant again. Or maybe it's just being in his presence. Usually, thinking on this vein, remembering, only makes me mourn bitterly for what was lost. Now... now the pain is still there, but not as bad as before, more of a dull ache than a stabbing pain.

My head snaps up with a jolt as the speeder comes to a stop, and a pervasive sense of familiarity echoes hollowly through my center.

As Anakin opens the door and carefully helps me from the speeder, a ball of ice begins to form in my stomach. I'm afraid that I know all to well where we are, where he is taking me.

The buildings that surround our landing pad are dilapidated, the once gleaming exteriors scarred and pitted. Windows and sections of walls are missing, leaving them with an oddly haunted appearance.

Bracing myself, I turn to follow Anakin, my eyes drawn against their will to the building in front of us.

It too has the look of the long abandoned but, unlike the others, there are no marks of obvious vandalism. The walls are aged and scarred with time, but aside from that, it is untouched.

I begin to understand why when Anakin stops in front of a keypad, and for a moment the air in front of us shimmers with the glitter of a dissolving energy shield.

Stepping into the hall is something of a surprise. I had expected it to be as worn and dilapidated as the exterior, but it is remarkably well kept. While certainly somewhat aged, the corridors we pass through seem to have more of a feeling of graceful weathering than true disrepair.

Our path is blocked momentarily by two security droids, but they respond almost immediately to Anakin's command to stand down. I glance at Anakin with a questioning look, and he simply shrugs awkwardly in response.

As we continue further into the building, I can't help but notice the almost tomblike emptiness. The building is unnaturally silent, the only noise the steady sound of our footsteps echoing hollowly through the halls.

Finally Anakin comes to a stop in front of a door that I know all to well, and my heart feels as though it will pound through my rib cage.

Anakin bypasses the security and steps into the room, instintively scanning for any threats that might be waiting. Satisfied, he looks back at me and extends a hand, waiting expectantly.

A frisson of disquiet crawls down my spine, but I square my shoulders and take his gloved hand in mine, allowing him to pull me into a world I had never thought to see again.

Stepping through the door is like stepping into the past. I am hit by a sense of deja-vu so strong that a cold shiver crawls down my spine and tears prick at the back of my eyes.

Of all the places he might have brought me, I do not know why he chose this place. Why here? Here, where the very walls cry out for what should have been, and never was.

My hand slips from his as I step further into what was once my apartment, the closest thing that he and I had to a home.

The painfully, awkward silence is broken by the oddly mechanical sound he makes as he clears his throat. Blinking steadily, I clear the tears from my eyes before turning to face him, my disquiet carefully concealed for the time being.

"There are a few matters that I must attend to. Will you be alright here?" he queries, his voice sounding oddly dissonant in the stillness of the apartment.

Every fiber of my being wants to cry out, that no, I am not alright, and that I don't want him to go. But the words seem frozen in my throat, so I say nothing.

He speaks again, mistaking the source of my disquiet.

"You will be safe here. This part of the city is no longer inhabited, and the building is secured by several security units..."

Shaking off my fear and paranoia in disgust, I nod firmly, in acquiescence.

He moves toward me slightly, and begins to say something, but catches himself.

"I...I will not be long."

His dark cloak twitches as he turns and steps back out into the hall, the door sliding shut behind him with an ominous hiss. I can hear the locking mechanism snapping into place, but what should have been a reassuring sound merely heightens the dread in my system.

I stand for a long moment, staring at the door blindly, before slowly turning and walking further into the past.

The apartment feels cold and empty, though I know that the chill is only in my mind. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be truly warm again.

I wander idly, moving from room to room, the only sound the steady padding of my feet on the tiled floor.

The apartment was- is, I remind myself,- separated into two levels. The first, designed for entertaining guests and diplomats, and the second for personal use. So while I often worked and entertained on this level, it is the second where I really lived.

I come to stop before the lift, this thought foremost in my mind as I carefully key the controls to the lift, listening as it hums to life.

A noise echoes behind me, loud in the stillness, and I whirl around, heart in my throat, to find a maintenance droid.

I press my hand to my palpitating chest, breathing deeply. The droid either not noticing, or ignoring my presence, continues about its business, busily polishing the floor.

I am not a fearful person by nature, but there is something jarring about being startled like that. Foolish perhaps, but an essentially human response.

Shaking off my disquiet I turn back to the lift, and press the sequence that will take me to the second level.

I had not expected to walk these floors again. It never occurred to me that I might be returned to this place, even less so that I might find it unchanged.

Part of me feels a kinship with it in this, like the stories told to Nubian children about people who sleep for a hundred years and wake to find everything changed but themselves. In a way, that's how I feel. In many ways, I have not changed at all, like this place. On the surface, we are both the same, but underneath... that is where we are different...some intrinsic shift deep inside, that alters everything and nothing at the same time.

I think when I left that day, I knew deep in my heart that whatever happened, I wouldn't be returning. Fate is funny, isn't it?

The lift comes to a halt, and the doors slide open with a slight screech of metal against metal.

A wave of nostalgia washes over me as I step into what was once my private sitting room.

My fingers absently trail over an end table as I reminisce, taking in the simple contents of the room, and the discarded remnants of my former life.

There is an unfinished cup of caf sitting on the table, it's contents long since dried and cracked into a hard powder at the bottom of the mug. A partially knitted baby jumper lies haphazardly on the arm of the lounge chair, where I left it when...when Obi-wan arrived to tell me what had occurred.

I can feel a lump rising in my throat as I tenderly pick up the tiny garment. I was never particularly good at knitting, yet another skill my mother despaired of my ever mastering. I was never patient enough to sit and finish something, and I was forever dropping stitches.

I can feel tears pricking at the back of my eyes as I run my fingers over the tiny garment. It's obviously not the work of a skilled knitter, one side just a little longer than the other and a small knot under the right arm.

I remember when Anakin first caught me working on it, I had dropped the sixth stitch in as many minutes and was cursing rather volubly in frustration, when he walked into the room.

He just managed to catch the garment as it went sailing toward his head. I can still remember the look of surprised amusement that was written across his face.

I miss that smile. At the time though, I was not inclined to appreciate it. I was angry and frustrated, and just plain ill humored.

"It's not funny!" I cried indignently in response to his soft laughter. "I'm a terrible knitter, and I'm going to be a terrible mother, I can't even make a simple jumper!"

Tears had begun to trickle down my cheeks at this point. Anakin, a wise man at that time, bit back his laughter, wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. He told me that he thought I was doing a great job, and that I would be a wonderful mother.

Once my tears had quieted, he leaned back and smiled at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Now what would the Senate have to say if they heard the distinguished Senator Amidala cursing like a Correlian smuggler? Those were some pretty nasty words, Senator." He said the last, barely containing his mirth as he chuckled at my expense.

I merely looked up at him and smirked, "They should be. I learned them from you."

The memories melt away, and I am standing alone in the small sitting room, a lopsided, half finished baby jumper clutched to my chest, and the echoes of memories dancing behind my eyes.

Who would have thought, who could have conceived, that only a few short weeks later everything would end in an inferno of rage that swept away everything we had once treasured, as though it was little more than chaff in the wind.

Tears begin to course down my cheeks, and I sink to my knees. They begin to come faster and heavier, until I am sobbing in earnest.

Everything that has occurred since I woke up in the medical bay of the Executor has had an oddly dreamlike quality to it, as though I was slightly detached from what was going on around me. This was good, because I was able to keep many of my emotions at arm's length, pushing things away to be dealt with later.

That has backfired tremendously.

The world around me melts away as I sink deeper into myself. I am assaulted by a torrent of emotions and memories as my fragile shields and barriers crumble around me, forcing me to come face to face with all of the things I had successfully buried for so long.

It is all too much...too much. The cold has returned, drowning me, threatening to pull me under once again.

I could not say how much time has passed, locked in the depths of my mind. Minutes pass like hours, and hours like seconds.

I am floating in a sea of my own creation, one that threatens to pull me under with every breath.

Through the icy fog that surrounds me, I can hear a voice calling to me. It's familiar, bringing thoughts of warmth, light, and safety, but I feel as though I'm swimming through quicksand, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot reach it. The waves pick up, battering me and threatening to consume me completely.

This time, I don't have to fight. This time, I am saved by two strong arms wrapping around me, anchoring me, in the tempestuous sea of my mind. I can feel the tenuous touch on my consciousness, the gentle offer of comfort and relief. Instintively, I respond, latching onto him almost desperately.

As I return to myself, becoming aware of my surroundings once again, I find myself wrapped securely in Anakin's strong arms, my face pressed snugly against the leather of his chest. Tears are streaming down my cheeks and I can feel his hands moving soothingly on my back as he murmurs to me softly in his own tongue.

We sit this way for some time as I struggle to regain control of my shattered senses.

It is as I sit here that I realize that I am going to have to tell him. There are things he needs to hear, and things I need to tell.

And so, gathering my courage to me like a shield, I begin to speak.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter 13**

"**The consequences of our crimes long survive their commission, and, like the ghosts of the murdered, forever haunt the steps of the malefactor"**

_Sir Walter Scott_

"**Courage is as often the outcome of despair as of hope; in the one case we have nothing to lose, in the other, everything to gain"**

_Diane de Pointiers_

I had not realized until I began to speak, just how badly I needed to speak of things. To tell someone, to be heard. To be understood. Anakin, for all of his shortcomings, has always been the person who has known me best,... and least.

And odd contradiction I suppose, but perhaps not so odd if you knew him as I did. Anakin has always had a remarkable ability to blind himself to the truth, so he only sees that which he wants to see, and only in the light he chooses to see it.

Still, even though I had trusted him with my life, and was now risking my heart, there are two infinitely precious things that I cannot risk. Not even to free myself of the last, and most painful of my burdens.

As badly as my heart wanted to trust him, I could not be completely certain he would not betray me again. After all, I had trusted him once with disastrous results. No, as long as Palpatine still lived I could not risk exposing my children to his wrath,... no matter the cost.

Even so I could not bring myself to out and out lie to him, so I told him the truth, and allowed his own guilt to lead him to what conclusions it would.

Anakin listened raptly as I spoke of waking up in the medical center, and what followed.

"Twins Anakin... We had twins."

He looked at me, stunned. "Twins?" he stammered incredulously."

"Yes. A boy and a girl. They,... They were so beautiful Anakin... My beautiful babies, they were so small,... and so incredibly fragile. "

The pain of my loss echoed hollowly in my spirit, and I knew he could sense it.

It was this pain coupled with my wording and his overwhelming guilt that led him to the conclusion I knew he would find.

Still I could not suppress a wave of guilt, I had not expected the raw, wounded pain that lay heavy in his voice when he spoke.

"Were? So they're..."

I looked away from him unable to look him in the eye as I deliberately misled him.

I did not need to fake my pain, or the tears that glimmered in my eyes as I spoke. Neither were my words strictly false, but that is a small comfort to my conscience.

"Yes. They... They're... gone." I finished dully.

"Both of them?" he asked harshly, a tinge of desperation coloring the pain in his voice as he gripped my arms almost painfully.

It nearly killed me to say it, to inflict the wound I knew my confirmation would cause. His pain is my pain, and I knew that what I was about to do could very well send him over the edge and back into darkness. Even beyond that, when he discovered, as he surely would, that I had deceived him, for deception it was, it will most likely break the fragile trust that lies between us.

But my children are the one thing that I hold more dearly than this trust, than my life, or even his soul.

And so the traitorous word fell from my lips, sharp as any knife.

"Yes."

The pain that came from him was almost overwhelming, I felt like I had indeed stabbed him. It was all I could do not to throw myself against his chest and confess then and there, only my iron will and love of my children prevented it.

He looked at me for what felt like a very long time, and then without warning he clutched me to him fiercely as he murmured apologies into my hair.

I felt so incredibly guilty in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to confess, but I could not. Not even for him. Still, there was a loss to mourn, if not their lives, the lives that we might have had together if things had been different.

I returned his embrace almost desperately, as we both wept for what was lost.

Sometime later when we had both quieted, he spoke again

"What happened after that? What happened to you?" he asked softly.

So with a heavy sigh I forced myself to continue the tale.

I spoke of my brief time in the medical center, and my half-hearted attempt to escape the long reach of the Empire.

I spoke of my foolishness, and the arrest that followed, the tension thrumming in his body a testament to the carefully controlled rage that burned inside him.

When I spoke of his Master, that tension disappeared, replaced with a white hot rage that sent shivers of disquiet crawling down my spine. His anger burned, but with no heat, it was cold and implacable. Beyond anything I had ever felt before. I felt his resolution, and I knew that the consequences would have a great affect on our lives.

When I would have stopped, he urged me to continue his gentle tone in direct contrast to the emotions I felt from him.

As I recounted my arrival on, what I now know to be, Rakesh, I surprised myself with the depth of the pain and horror that welled up from within me.

For a moment I could see the rough stone walls close before my eyes. The unending darkness and the bitter chill. Lost in the vision I was not even aware that I had begun to shake. I reached out a hand to touch the jagged stone and the vision melted away as though it had never been.

Except it had existed, had been my own personal hell for over ten years. I could feel the bile rising in my throat as I pushed away from Anakin and rose to my feet. Taking deep breaths I moved unsteadily to the window. If I was to relive this, I needed to see the sky as I spoke, see it and know that I am free, if only in the physical sense.

"I... I can't tell you what it was like... I could describe it to you, every stone, every crack... I could tell you how the chill would bite into my flesh, or how it felt waking up with every muscle aching from sleeping on the rough stone floor. I could tell you what it was like to never feel really, truly clean. I might even be able to tell you what it was like to lose connection with your senses, but you still wouldn't understand. I want so badly to explain,... to make you understand... but I don't know that I can."

I pause for a moment taking a great full gulp of fresh clean air before continuing.

"It was... darkness... death. No, more then that. It was the absence of life. There was no color there, just unending black and grey. No real sound, just unending silence..."

A bitter laugh escapes me in remembrance.

"Even the food was grey and tasteless. The air always smelt of must and decay,... but after awhile I didn't even notice it anymore... Everything there was rough and harsh... abrasive. Oppressive.

It was almost as though I had died and been entombed... I suppose in a way, I had. Except I wasn't dead, not quite. Though sometimes I wished I was.

There we're nights I prayed for release either from the pit, or in death, 'Please don't let me wake up here tomorrow.'"

A heavy sigh escaped me, leaving a slight fog on the windowpane. I idly swipe my fingers through it, even as I begin to speak once again.

"I had no hope of rescue. No one knew I was there, and most thought me dead. I deluded myself in the belief that I had hope, but I didn't, not really. I held on to that belief for as long as I could, but even that was eventually lost to me. And then... Then I prayed for death. The only release I had any real hope for. Sometimes I wish that I had the courage to just end it. There were days when it seemed like I couldn't stand it for another moment.

My skin felt tight and I couldn't breathe, it was as though all the stone was pushing in on me, crushing me."

My hand moved instinctively to my throat in unconscious memory as a slight tremor ran through my body.

"When it was bad like that, that's when I escaped. In my mind I lived a thousand lifetimes. I dreamt, and fantasized. I dreamed of freedom, of our children,... of you.

I dreamt of you often. Even when I didn't want to. There were days when I hated you. Days when I would have gladly killed you for what you had done. And then,... then there were days when I would have given anything, ANYTHING to have you hold me again.

Sometimes I would wake up reaching for you. It never seemed to hurt any less when I opened my eyes and realized you weren't there."

I stopped, realizing what I was saying, and then deliberately changed the train of thought.

"It's funny. I was always so busy, I rarely had a moment to myself. I remember bemoaning that fact often enough. Be careful what you wish for. For the first time in years, I had all the time in the world, and I couldn't bear it.

In a place like that, your thoughts are your only companion, and at the same time they drive you mad. There were so many things to worry about, so many foolish and petty concerns mingling with the truly important ones. I worried about the Republic, I worried about my family and my friends.

The thing was, that as well intentioned and real as those concerns and worries were, there was nothing, absolutely nothing I could do about any of it. I was truly and completely powerless. And I think that, that is probably what bothered me the most."

I shook my head, clearing it before continuing.

"No, what bothered me the most, is that I wasn't even me anymore. Everything I was, everything that defined me was stripped away. I wasn't Senator Amidala, and I wasn't Padme Naberrie, and I wasn't even Padme Skywalker anymore. I was just,... me, and that terrified me. I wouldn't admit it, not even to myself, but living like that, it changes you somehow, your not who once were, those roles don't fit anymore, and at the same time you aren't really this new creature either. You don't quite fit in your own skin, it's like you've been broken and put back together, only there are pieces missing, cracks and gaping holes. When you look in the mirror you expect to see yourself changed on the surface as well, but you haven't, not really...then, when you look yourself in the eyes, you see a stranger looking out at you. Someone you don't even recognize...

I'm so tired Anakin, tired of all of this. I'm tired of being strong, and always having to make the right decisions. I'm just so incredibly tired of it all. If I could I think I would leave this place and never have anything more to do with this world again. I would go and start over, try to live my life in peace. But I can't. I never could."

I turned to face him, my eyes glimmering with unshed tears. His own face is hooded, the blue eyes, dark and hard. I can feel the impotent anger burning inside of him. As much as he wanted to know what had happened to me, the reality of it is far different. There is nothing he can do to make this any better, and he knows it. No matter who he kills, no matter what he does, nothing can change what is already past. Perhaps I need to accept this to.

"And you Anakin? Have these years been kinder to you than they have to me? Or do you to have your own story to tell?"

He looked at me for a long moment, a frown marring his brow, before speaking.

"I don't know that there is much to tell. It's all jumbled together, the years blending into one long expanse of time. I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"I don't know Anakin, I just want to understand."

He is silent for a very long time, debating about how to answer me. Or perhaps just trying to decide where to begin. I sink down to the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees, and watch the thoughts play across his face. When he speaks his tone is distant, almost as though he is speaking of someone else, who knows, perhaps in some way he is.

"The first thing I did when I came around enough to understand what was going on around me, was to ask about you. When Palpatine told me you were dead... everything changed."

He turned away from me and clasped his hands behind his back as he continued his tale.

"At first I was angry, with you, with the force; with myself. I couldn't stand that I had lost you. That I had killed you. It was easier to be angry than to deal with the pain. Unfortunately fate was against me. I was still recovering and I had to spend countless hours in the medical center. Far to many long miserable hours where my thoughts hounded me. The pain of losing you was intense, I could feel it burning inside of me. Like some intrinsic part of my spirit had been torn out leaving a void that nothing could fill."

He ran his hand across his head, an unconscious gesture that was achingly familiar.

"I tried, force knows I tried, but nothing helped. I could still see you, every time I closed my eyes, every time I let my guard down for even a moment, you were there. It killed me, and with time I got better at controlling it, but then I would turn a corner and catch a glimpse of a face in a crowd. My heart would leap in my chest thinking it was you, and just like that all the progress I had made melted away and I was raw and grieving again.

Sometimes I would hear your voice talking to me, that was the worst. During the day I would do my best to drive your voice from my mind, but at night... It killed me to hear it, but in the stillness of the night my weakness had full sway. As much as it hurt, I would play the memories over in my mind, letting the sound of your voice wash over me like a caress and yet like grinding salt into a wound.

I slept little, in the darkness and quiet of the sleep cycle my memories plagued me. Scenes playing over and over in my head until I thought I would go mad with it. I tormented myself endlessly with stupid little things like the way you laughed, or that little furrow in your brow when your working on a particularly difficult problem. The smell of your perfume hounded me, Nubian flowers, another thing I loved and loathed.

When I did sleep, I dreampt of you constantly. The scenes changed but it always ended the same. I would see you as you were on Mustafar, that look of disbelief and horror on your face, like I had suddenly transformed into a monster before your eyes. I suppose I had. No matter what I tried to do or say, it always ended the same. I hurt you and all I can see is you lying there so still and fragile, like a doll carelessly thrown to the floor, broken and discarded. I couldn't do anything to stop it, I couldn't do anything to save you, and then I would awaken, my throat raw from screaming."

I could see the tremors that ran through his broad shoulders, and fought down the urge to go to him. I knew that he would not appreciate my noticing this vulnerability.

"Eventually I just became so numb I couldn't stand it anymore, I stopped caring about anything, stopped feeling. I became completely numb,... cold, the machine everyone thought me to be. I stopped seeing your face everywhere I went, or hearing your voice. And then,... then I stopped dreaming. I didn't smell flowers anymore."

He paused for a moment, and sank down beside me before continuing, his voice so soft I could barely hear it.

"And then I walked into that garrison on Rakesh, and for the fist time in years, I smelt flowers again. When I heard your voice, felt you reaching for me, it was as though a switch had been thrown and everything came to life again. Smells, sounds, colors... feelings."

He shook his head ruefully before continuing.

"Do you know what the worst of it is? I didn't even know. I never even realized the things that were missing until I was hit with them again."

He paused again, looking into my eyes intently.

"I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I forgot you for even a moment. I'm sorry I didn't look for you, that I took Palpatine's lie at face value. I'm sorry for not trusting you, for listening to Palpatine at all. I know this changes nothing, and I've said it before, but I am truly sorry I hurt you. It was never my intention."

"I know." I said, and surprisingly, I meant it. I did know. He had done wrong, terrible wrong, and he'd paid the price for the decisions he made.

Everything he had done, while obviously from a deluded viewpoint, had, at least at first, been done with the best of intentions. He would never deliberately hurt me. His actions on Mustafar had been driven by his fear, jealousy and insecurity.

Anakin had always been controlled by his insecurities. As a slave he had not had any rights, and or anything he could really call his own. While joining the Jedi had established some sense of pride and identity it didn't feed the need that gnawed inside of him. He needed to be needed, wanted, to be loved. The loss of his mother only compounded the needy woundedness the was as much apart of him as breathing.

Then I came into his life, an idealized boyhood crush. I represented all of the things he wanted and needed so desperately. He was insanely jealous. Having had so few things in his life that he could call his own, what little he did have he guarded jealously. And I was certainly at the top of the list. Knowing this, and knowing him as I did, I could understand what had led him to make the decisions he had. Respect them? No. Agree with them? Most definitely not. Understand them? Yes. Maybe that's enough to begin with, it has to be.

After this revelation, I had turned to him and embraced him, laying my head against his chest. He was surprised at first, but returned my embrace with a ferocity that surprised us both.

Now as we sit here I can hear his heart beating steadily beneath my ear, the comforting rhythm matching my own. His voice breaks the peaceful silence that surrounds us, his tone laden with regret.

"I have to go."

My head snaps up nearly catching him on the chin.

"Go? Go where?"

He sighs heavily, before speaking once again. "I am to meet my 'master'. He requested my presence, which I suppose is just as well because he and I have some unfinished business to attend to."

A cool wave of satisfaction runs through me, and I am shamed by my own desire for vengeance. I know from the cold gleam in Anakin's eye that Palpatine's death will not be an easy one. But in truth, I cannot find it in me to care.

As much as I would like to stay like this, cradled in the safety of Anakin's body, I know that we will have no real peace until Palpatine is dead. The Galaxy will be forever in jeopardy as long as Palpatine sits on his throne.

I consider demanding that he take me with him when he confronts his master, but as much as I would enjoy seeing the look on Palpatine's face when he saw me there, alive and well, I know it would not be for the best. I am still weak, my body not fully recovered from my long imprisonment, I would be of little assistance in a fight. If anything I believe I would prove a distraction, and this is one fight where Anakin cannot afford to be distracted.

As I look into Anakin's blue eyes a frisson of fear runs down my spine. Fate has played us false to many times before, and I can't help but fear that the price of our freedom from Palpatine's tyranny may be Anakin's life. The galaxy has never been fair to us, and we have already been cheated of far to many years.

"You'll be careful?" I ask softly.

He smiles at me his grin the cocky look I remember so well.

"Aren't I always?"

I cock an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm afraid of."

He presses a kiss to my forehead and murmurs softly, his words almost undecipherable.

"If I were a better man I would let you go and try to live your life in some measure of peace."

I reach my hand up to his cheek and he grips it in his, as he presses his cheek into my palm.

"Who says I would let you?"

He chuckles ruefully and carefully sets me on my feet. As he pulls himself up beside me, I realize for the first time that he is not wearing his armor. I suppose I must have noticed it, but in the midst of all that was occurring I had not cognitively processed it.

"Where is your armor?" I ask as we walk out toward the main living room.

He bends down and picks up a small pile of clothes off the floor, where he must have dropped them in his haste to get to me.

"When I face Palpatine, I want to face him as I am. I want to be able to look him in the eye, so he knows why he's dying." he says as he deftly pulls on the over tunic and looks behind him for the utility belt.

Carefully I pick it up before he can reach for it, and move toward him, a question in my eyes.

He nods his consent, and I reach around him and carefully latch the belt, straightening the line of his tunic.

His hands gently reach down and caress my arms in a gesture so familiar that time has not dimmed it in the least.

"It will be alright Padme. I promise you."

A shiver runs down my spine at those painfully familiar words, and I send a silent prayer that this will not be another broken promise.

I look up and our eyes lock, a silent message passing between us that neither dares speak. His eyes darken slowly as his head slowly moves down toward mine, he pauses just before his lips meet mine.

"For luck." he murmurs softly, his breathe feathering against my lips. And then his lips are pressed to mine fiercely sending small shockwaves through both of us. The room tilts wildly and nothing exists outside of this moment, just him and me.

He pulls away from me, his eyes dark with passion, and an unspoken promise. Then he is gone, and I'm standing alone in the entryway of what was once my home, watching the door slide shut behind him, the words of my unspoken farewell echoing hollowly in my mind.

"May the force with you Anakin."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter 14

A.N.: Ok everyone here it is. Finally. I want to apologize profusely for taking so long to finish this. Life has been… insane lately, to say the least. I know that's just an excuse, but I am commited to finishing this story one way or another. This chapter has been rewritten, dissected. Accidentally deleted (twice!), lost. Rethought, brought back to the original, and redone again. My muse and I have been locked in an all out war. I won this time, (I think) and I only hope that this chapter is worth the wait and the work that went into it. Also I had originally intended to continue on with this story going into what happens post but, between my muse and RL, I think that I will cut this off when it feels right, and leave further ideas for a possible (likely) sequel. We still have a couple chapters to go so were not done yet! Many thanks to all of you for your support and patience. If it wasn't for you this story probably would have been added to the evergrowing pile of 'complete someday's. So thank you, this is for you. I only hope that it's worth it.

The night cycle had long since fallen over Coruscant leaving the upper levels bathed in a sort of soft glow. The garish lights of the midlevels reflecting off the gleaming transparisteel to create a sort of aurora of light around the towering buildings of the upperlevel. Each tower reaching higher than the last till it seemed that they could touch the very stars.

The casual observer would be awestruck by the sight. Indeed Coruscant at night was something to behold, but, as is the way with many beautiful things, this was just the outer shell. If you went a little further beneath the surface into the mid-levels, you would find a completely different world then the serene elegance of the privileged upper levels.

Here, beneath the surface, the air buzzed with the noise of millions of beings crushed together in a teaming mass of anonyminity. Here, the night was almost brighter then the day, illuminated by thousands of garish neon lights. If anything the mid-levels were more active at night then during the day, millions of beings searching for an escape from the sheer drudgery of their lives in the dens of vice and iniquity that lined the airways.

Unnoticed by those beings, a single dark shuttle broke away from the streaming lines of traffic, diving deeper and deeper into the darkness. The pilot suppressed a shudder as the feelings of hopelessness, and despair. Desperation and fear, washed over him. Growing stronger the deeper he went. Then, suddenly the feelings were gone, the emptiness of the lowest levels almost comforting after the cloying sickness that he had just passed.

Deep within the bowels of the city planet, far deeper than even the most hardened of criminals would dare to tread, the shuttle came to a halt. A section of wall, appearing no different than any other, shuddered and slid slowly open, allowing the small shuttle to enter the hidden landing bay, and disappeared as though it had never been. In fact, anyone observing would have doubted that they had seen anything at all.

The docking bay doors slid shut behind him with a small whoosh of compressed air as Anakin moved silently down the short corridor that would take him to the labyrinth of tunnels that riddled the Imperial Palace . He snorted as he entered his personal code into the security pad. The Emperors paranoia was evident in the construction of these tunnels. To one unfamiliar with the twisting corridors and dead ends, the tunnels were essentially a death trap, and as far as he knew there were only a handful of people who even knew of the tunnels existence, let alone were familiar enough with them to navigate the narrow corridors.

The door gave way with a loud groan and a hiss. The stale scent of dust and reprocessed air assailed his nostrils as he stepped into the pitch-black interior of the tunnels. Anakin fumbled along the wall for a moment before his hand latched around one of the small glowlamps that were located to the left of every exit and entrance to the tunnels. The lamp whirred for a moment before snapping on and bathing the corridor with a dim light. He didn't waste time looking around, not that there was much to see. Narrow corridors of black stone extended as far as the eye could see in either direction. The pale light of the glow lamp reflecting dully off of the smooth black stone, and revealing the small eddies of that dust rose up around him as his cloak swirled over the floor.

He thought, not for the first time, that he was lucky he wasn't claustrophobic as the tunnel was so narrow that there was barely two inches between his broad shoulders and the wall on either side, and if he were to stand up straight his hair would brush the ceiling.

The only sound was the even rhythm of his breathing and the steady clomping of his boots echoing hollowly off of the narrow walls. Lost in these sounds he allowed himself to be submersed in the chaotic web of thoughts and emotions that swirled within him like an maelstrom. Everything was so uncertain right now. He wasn't sure where he stood. He wasn't the naïve young jedi that he had once been, could never be that man again. And yet he wasn't really Darth Vader any more either. He couldn't say when it had happened. Couldn't pick one moment and say that's it. That's when I changed. Rather it was more of a slow process. A lessening by degrees until that final click, holding Padme in his arms as she wept for all that had been lost.

Which is not to say that he was free from the darkness. Far from it. The darkness had always been within him, been a part of him, and likely it always would be. In a way it is the very essence of humanity. You cannot have the light without the dark, or vice-versa. In order to exist we need both.

This was all irrelevant however, because at the moment, both sides were focused on the one thing they agreed on. Padme, both loved her. One would give anything for her, the other do anything to keep her. And at the moment they both wanted revenge for what had been done to her. The darkness howled scratching beneath the surface, demanding blood, Palpatines blood.

He remembered the pain that had flown freely through their bond as she had spoken of her time in the medical center. He sensed that she hadn't been completely honest with him, he hadn't pushed her because he believed he knew what it was she was protecting, and while it gauled him no end that she felt she couldn't trust him he understood why she would feel the need to do so. Likely she was right anyway, if he had known for certain, there is a chancethat great harm would have befallen, the very thing she saught to protect.

There was no point thinking futher on this now, there would be plenty of time to deal with all of it after he had accomplished what he came her to accomplish.

He flicked the lamp off as he neared a dark alcove, nearly invisible to the naked eye. With the ease born of habit, he stashed the lamp on the shelf and pushed at several points in the stone. He reached out scanning the large chamber with the force, empty save for the dark void that signified the Emperors presence. No guards or companions, this might just be easier than he had anticipated. With a final push, the wall gave way with a click, popping back and sliding neatly into the wall.

The room was large and sparse as were most of Palpatines personal chambers. The room was barren of furnishings, save for the large throne that sat perched on a dais at the far end of the room. The throne was facing away from him, arranged to view the large array of viewscreens and control panels that made up the back wall of the room. From this room Palpatine could control the entire Galaxy, maneuvering worlds and people like pawns on Dejarik board. Anakin had taken only two steps into the room when the door slid shut behind him, locking with an audible click.

"So, my old 'apprentice' you have decided to betray me."

Anakin clamped down on his emotions, controlling his surprise, and fear for Padme at the Emperors words, as the large chair slowly turned to face him.

"You thought I wouldn't know what you were planning?" he asked his tone almost mockingly conciliatory. Then in a flesh his face twisted into an expression of rage. "I know everything! Nothing escapes my attention! Nothing! I knew your greed and lust for power would drive you to betray me one day" his tone softened once again. "Oh yes, I knew it from the first moment I met you. I know you. We are alike you and I. Do it. Strike me down and fulfill your destiny!"

He threw his hood back angrily, blue eyes blazing. "I am nothing like you! I will not become like you. Surrender yourself to me now and I will spare your life…"

"Palpatine was on his feet in an instant, unlit lightsaber clutched tightly in his gnarled hand. "Never!"

A slow grin spread across Anakin's face as he unfastened his cape allowing it to fall to the floor with a soft swish of fabric. "I was hoping you'd say that 'emperor'."

Palpatine launched himself at Anakin with a scream of rage, his blade held high for a killing blow.

In an instant Anakin's lightsaber was in his hand, the blade drawn and ignited in a fluid motion. A thrum of energy coursed up his arm as the familiar scent of burnt ozone teased his nostrils. Anakin swung his blade to meet Palpatines, easily countering the blow, forcing Palpatine to step backward sharply. Palpatine's twisted face contorted even further into a grotesque expression of rage. Battering his blade down on Anakin's again and again.

Sparks flew through the air as the two crimson blades locked and clashed in a deadly dance as the two opponents moved across the floor. Anakin was easily the better swordsman, his youth and agility giving him an advantage over the aged emperor. Palpatine had grown complacent in his power, his arrogance. He was fueled by a dark rage, the darkside almost a palpatable thing around him, it's presence thick and oily so you could almost taste it. His eyes lit with an unholy light as he brought his blade down on Anakin's again and again, sheer force of will keeping him from loosing his grip on the blade as Anakin easily countered his attacks time after time.

Palpatine snarled and through a burst of force lighting toward his opponent. Anakin's lightsabre deflected most of the energy, dispersing it into the air around him. The air crackled with electricity, the smell of burnt ozone, mingling with perspiration. The hair on his arms stood on end from the super charged air. Anakin's eyes gleamed brightly as he gathered the energy from the air reforming it into a single powerful burst of energy. The burst hit the emperor square in the chest sending him flying across the floor to slam into the dais with a dull thud.

Anakin moved toward him slowly as the Emperor began to recover looking around desperately for his lightsaber. Anakin spotted it first and sliced it in two as it flew through the air towards the Emperor. For the first time Palpatine felt real fear, his eyes were large as he scuttled backwards up the stairs his back pressing against the throne.

"Wait! Surely we can come to some sort of agreement! I have something you want…" Palpatine said placatingly.

"Oh what's that? Money? Power? My own planet?" he said sarcasticly.

"No… your wife."

Anakin froze midstep, his gaze narrowing sharply on the huddled Emperor who was trying to subtly ease himself back up onto the throne. "What did you say?"

"Your wife. She's alive, and has been my prisoner these past ten years." Noticing the look of anger on his face he continued hurriedly. "But if I die, she will be killed before you can ever find her." He finished more firmly, as he finally settled into the throne.

"Your wrong." Anakin said softly. In a move that was so swift he couldn't catch it, Anakin was on him. His blade slid through his abdomen like butter, neatly severing the spinal cord. Palpatine was frozen unable to move, only his eyes betrayed his fear as the slowly widened in knowledge that had come to late. Anakin's blade moved slowly upward towards the heart. The smell of scorched flesh filling the air. He moved closer and whispered sofly, "You never should have touched her." Then with a flick of the wrist it was over. The blade consumed Palpatine's heart with a burning fire, literally scorching it from his breast. The pupils dilated one last time, and it was done.

Anakin stepped back from the throne with a jerk. His breath coming in sharp gasps. The lightsaber fell from his nerveless fingers with a dull clatter. He realized with a start that he was shaking. He couldn't help feeling that it should have been harder. The man that had ruled his life for so long, had destroyed millions of lives on a whim, was dead. Perhaps that was the simple point of it. In the end Palpatine was nothing more than a man. He bled like any other,… died like any other. He stood like that silently staring at the emperors lifeless form, for how long, he didn't know. Silently, he scooped up the lightsaber, and turned walking from the room. He didn't look back. Not once.

I don't know exactly what it was that alerted me to his presence. I was lost in the bright sweep of stars and lights that spread out around me in a panorama of incredible beauty. It has been so long since I have had the privilage of simply sitting outside. Yet another of those foolish little things that you take for granted until they are gone. Really how many beings step outside and stop, overwhelmed in appreciation of what lays out before them. The sun and the moon, the twinkling stars, the wind, rain, trees, all of it. These are things that most people see every day, and simply take them for granted. I don't think I will ever be able to do that again. These things have become infinitely precious.

Lost in the vastness of the sky, I sit on the cool stone ledge of the balcony, idly running a brush through my still damp hair. That to was a great pleasure, the feeling of clean water running over my body. WARM water pulsing against my stiff muscles. I sigh softly with the memory. The sky seems so much bigger, and brighter than I remember. The lights of the city so much sharper. Traffic no longer passes around the apartment, and the buildings have grown up around it, towering over it and blocking out the sky in places. But not here. This building alone remains untouched, a silent sentinal, a reminder of what was… and perhaps will be again. I know that the pristine condition of the building, and the emptiness that surrounds it, are his doing. I feel oddly grateful for this, grateful that this place and all the memories that it holds have not been destroyed, buried under mounds of durasteel. At first I couldn't bear to face those memories and everything they embodied, but now I have come to realize that I need them. I lived so long without them, I survived because of that same mental distance, but I don't need to simply survive any longer. I have a chance, while not a great one, an opportunity to live again. To make a shot at having my family, my life. For the first time in a very long time, I have hope.

A tenseness moves into my muscles, the instinctive tightening of prey that has been spotted by a predator. I don't know how I didn't notice his presence, perhaps I was to lost in my thoughts. Slowly I turn to face him, his dark eyes locking with mine. The look on his face is one of extreme displeasure. The urge to squirm uncomfortably under that intense gaze fills me, but I refuse to give into it. I firm my spine and look him directly in the eye, unflinching. I am not to be cowed, I will bow to no man.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks sharply his voice tight with anger.

I open my mouth to speak but he doesn't wait for my answer.

"Do you realize what could have happened? Someone might have seen you. You could have been killed or worse. I told you not to leave the apartment, you are safe inside but I cannot protect you out here!" he says tightly as he starts to move toward me.

"No one did see me, and I'm fine. I take it from your presence that your… 'meeting' went well?" I ask softly.

He looks at me silently for a moment before nodding curtly. "He's dead. I killed him"

I feel drained as an overwhelming feeling of relief swamps through me, my head drops limply to my chest as I murmer prayers of thanksgiving silently into the night. He's dead, it's over. A cool breeze passes over us, and I cannot suppress a shiver as the cool air blows through the thin material of my nightgown.

My head snaps up as Anakin curses sharply and moves toward me once again. "You are still not fully recoverd, you should not be out here, and most certainly not dressed like that."

"I am not a child Anakin!" I snap as he grips my arm firmly to pull me to my feet. I'm not certain whether he underestimated his own strength, or if he overestimated my weight, but the end result is that I am propelled upwards slamming into his chest, my body flush with his.

His arms come up instinctively to steady me, and he freezes. His breathing is labored as I look up into his eyes. They are still dark, but this time with a different emotion. My breath catches in my throat as his gaze locks on my lips. I swallow sharply my mouth suddenly dry as his head moves slowly toward mine. "No, most definitely not a child." He murmers softly his breath feathering against my skin. Then his lips are on mine firm and warm, at once exciting and familiar. I can feel my own lips softenin beneath his as warm tingling waves of desire start to pulse through my body. He groans sharply as my arms come up to embrace his, and he pulls me more firmly against his body. So close that I can scarcely tell where he ends and I begin, yet it's not enough. I need to be closer, a need I can feel closely mirrored in him as his hands tangle in my hair. As the passion crests higher within me, I surrender myself to it, letting desire swamp me. Surrendering, I let go, and the hairbrush falls unheeded to the floor.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Drowning: Chapter 15- All Good Things Must End

Author: Angeladear a.k.a.: Mistress Eden

Feedback: Angelic By Design , The Force Boards, and anyone else, please ask me! Thanks!

A.N.: Ok everyone. Here it is. The last chapter! ducks I'm not hugely thrilled with how it came out, but it says what I needed to say. I do think the last bit is a little sappy:P but screw it. I've put them through hell I can do sap if I want... cough I may end up redoing this, I don't know, it depends on the response. This story has taken me over a year to complete and tops out at 111 pages. Phew! Anyway, I'll probably be taking a break from this genre for awhile, I'm a little tapped out, and feel like playing with some of my other favorite fandoms, and I'm actually working on writing a couple of books, hopefully with better caliber writing lol. Anyway, I wanted to thank you all for the incredible support you have given me. Seriously, I don't believe I would have been able to finish this story if it hadn't been for the support of each and every one of you. Thank you. Really, you have no idea how much your response has meant to me. I love you guys! It's been a hell of a ride, and I hope this chapter is everything you wanted, remember, that there are a couple of things I am saving for the slated sequel so don't get disapointed if I don't give specifics on a couple of things :P. Thank you again! Hugs!

Eden

"**Oh what a tangled web we weave, When first we practice to deceive"**

Sir Walter Scott quotes

"**There is no art in turning a goddess into a witch, a virgin into a whore, but the opposite operation, to give dignity to what has been scorned, to make the degraded disireable, that calls for art or for character.**"

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe quotes

"**There is no past that we can bring back by longing for it. There is only an eternally new now that builds and creates itself out of the Best as the past withdraws."**

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe quotes

I awaken, heart pounding in my chest and nightmares dancing at the edge of my vision. The dreams swiftly fade as I become aware of the warm weight that is wrapped around my waist. Anakin.

Sighing heavily, I snuggle more deeply into him. Losing myself in the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. His other arm is buried in my hair, gently cradling my head in the palm of his hand. His grip is deceptively gentle, his arms are like iron bands around me, and I know that even if I wanted to I would be unable to escape his grip. However that is the last thing I want to do. Lying in his arms fills me with a deep sense of comfort and safety.

My eyes flicker over the broad expanse of his chest, idly noting the differences. He's broader, more dense, and the once smooth expanse is littered with raised scars. Still I cannot help but think it is a nice chest. His face is relaxed in sleep, making him seem almost innocent. I fancy I can see the boy he once was in the face of the man he has become. But time and war have done their work well, he is changed, older, and wiser, as am I.

Some things however, have not changed. Like the way he makes me feel, or the way I fit so perfectly into the crook of his arm. In the dim light of early dawn, I can almost imagine that we are the only two people in the world, and that the rest of the galaxy has melted away.

In my heart I know that I am only lying to myself. I know that soon this fragile peace will be broken and I will have to confess my duplicity. The thought terrifies me. I don't think I could bear to lose him again, not after coming so close to reclaiming some measure of what we once shared, but I do not have a choice. I will have to tell him the truth about our children.

Soon, but not now. With that thought firmly in mind, I snuggle further into his warmth and allow sleep to claim me once again.

When I awaken again Anakin is gone, and for a moment a feeling of panic swamps me. Swinging my legs onto the floor I breathe deeply and stubbornly fight down the reaction. I fear my imprisonment has caused scars that may never heal. The idea that I will be fighting irrational feelings and impulses for the rest of my life terrifies me. For someone who prizes control so highly, this weakness is almost unbearable.

Pushing these thoughts aside I push to my feet and pick up my discarded nightgown from where it lies on the floor. I shake my head and discard it once again as I realize that it is ripped neck to hem. A smile curls my lips at the memory of how it came to be torn in the first place.

With a sigh I pad naked to the closet and put on a warm velvet robe. Like so many of my former outfits, it is far to large and hangs from my slight frame. Giving in to childish impulse I stick my tongue out at my reflection as I pull the belt tighter and knot it securely. Looking over my vanity, I cannot locate my favorite brush. With a mental shrug I select another from the innumerable collection of implements that litter it's surface and gently work out the knots.

I glance up to the mirror as I finish braiding my hair, and bite back a startled gasp. Anakin is standing in the doorway, ankles crossed and his shoulder casually propped against the jam. He grins at me softly and walks across the room. Gently lifting me to my feet, he presses a warm kiss to my lips. Shivers course through my body and my eyes drift slowly shut. Just as I feel myself surrendering to the sensation he releases me and steps back slightly.

"Good morning, how did you sleep?"

My eyes pop open and I shoot him a glare at the sight of his wicked grin.

"Just fine thank you." I answer formally. My chin raises several notches at his soft chuckle.

"You must be hungry by now. Common I got us some breakfast." He says mildly as he reaches out a hand toward me. I eye it for a moment before taking it in mine and allowing him to escort me to the diningroom.

I smile at the mounds of fruit, bread and cheese that litter the dining table. I glance up at Anakin and he shrugs slightly.

"I wasn't sure what you would like."

I laugh softly as Anakin solicitously pulls out a chair for me before seating himself.

Breakfast is a relatively quiet affair, filled with half starts, and awkward silences. We are still getting used to one another again, and it has been a very long time since either of us has truly conversed with another.

In direct contrast to our awkward conversation, the food is divine. The fresh fruits are like heaven to me, sweet and tart the juices burst against my tongue in a wash of flavor.

Bright berries, goomi, larkmelon, and juma. I can't recall the last time I had fresh juma. I freeze mid-bite as I realize that is not true. While juma has always been a favorite of mine, during my pregnancy I ate it almost incessantly.

The bright, painful memories of that time remind me of what I must do, and the food turns to sawdust in my mouth. My ravenous appetite vanishes, and the sight of the food almost nauseates me.

"Are you alright?" Anakin asks, and I raise my eyes to meet his concerned ones.

"I... No. Not really. I have to tell you something, and I have no idea how to do it."

He frowns slightly. "Alright."

"I wasn't completely honest with you yesterday. I led you to believe something that wasn't true. I am sorry for it, I wanted to tell you but I was concerned for the consequences and..."

Anakin raises a hand cutting me off. "It's alright. I know."

I feel myself staring at him dumbly. "You do?"

"Yes. I could sense you were hiding something yesterday, and it wasn't that hard to figure out what it had to be. I can understand why you would feel the need to protect him. He did save your life and for that at least I'm grateful."

The budding relief I feel freezes in my chest. "Wait. What?"

Anakin frowned, "Obi-wan, you were protecting him..."

"Obi-wan? What does he have to do with this?" I ask incredulously.

"If you weren't protecting Obi-wan, what were you protecting?"

I pause for a moment before releasing a heavy sigh and whispering softly. "Our children."

Anakin's expression hardens, and his eyes are like ice chips. "What did you say?"

"I said, that I was protecting our children. They are alive Anakin."

He is frozen for a moment before shoving out of his chair with a curse and stalking across the room. His back is to me and I can see the tightly clenched muscles quivering with pain and anger. "You kept this from me. You let me think they were dead!"

He whirls to face me and pulls me to my feet, his hands grip my biceps like bands of steel. "Why? Tell me why!"

He punctuates his words, shaking me slightly.

"I was scared Anakin. I was terrified of what Palpatine might do if he discovered they were alive. Yes I lied to you, and I would do it again. I would do far worse things than lie to protect my children."

His eyes search mine and I do my best not to flinch from the searing rage in those icy depths.

"No. It's not just that is it? You wanted to protect them, but you wanted to punish me too. You wanted to make me suffer for what I did to you,... to them."

I open my mouth to deny his words, and close it as I realize that he is right. He always knew me better then I knew myself, and some dark part of me did want to see him suffer for all that he had done. He released me with a curse and retreated across the room. This time I follow.

"Your right. I did want to hurt you. Is that what you wanted to hear? I was angry, hurt, and raw with the loss of my children. I lost everything Anakin. Everything! I admit part of me hated you for it. I had to watch and do nothing as my two precious babies were torn from my arms, and it nearly killed me. When I watched Obi-wan carry them out of that room, some part of me died, and I wanted to make you bleed like I did. I only got to hold them for moments, mere moments! Those moments have haunted me these ten years Anakin. Ten years with nothing but memories!"

He looks at me and I glimpse the raw woundedness in his heart. He speaks, and my own heart breaks with his softly spoken words.

"I never got to hold them at all."

I take a step toward him, hand outstretched. "Anakin..."

He shakes his head to cut me off. I've had my piece, and now he will have his, even if it kills us both.

"I never even got to see them. To know if they had your eyes or mine. Sith! I didn't even know that they were twins. I had memories too, but the only thing I could remember clearly was the look on your face when I choked the life out of you."

His voice breaks slightly and he runs a hand over his head before looking at me again.

"It's been ten years Padme. Haven't we both suffered enough?"

This time I do go to him, and his arms wrap around me tightly. Tears stream down my cheeks I whisper. "I'm sorry Anakin, so sorry."

His face is buried in my hair and I hear him whisper, "As am I Padme, as am I."

As we stand together, looking over the vast city scape, I cannot help but think of all that has happened. The terrifying highs, and the devastating lows.

Anakin and I have been through more then any two people should, and yet, here we are. We're still standing, we're still together, and I cannot help but think that counts for something. After all that has happened, I feel a new sense of optimism, a new belief that though obstacles may rise before us, together we can overcome anything. A little cliched and sappy I know, but I truly believe that it is true. There is still much that needs to be done. The Republic needs to be rebuilt, and it will have to be better and stronger then it ever was. And soon, soon Anakin and I will find our children, and we will finally be a family. I'm sure that there will be hard times ahead, in fact I can guarantee it, but that my friend, is life. Every day is a struggle, and a fight, but it's that very struggle that makes life worth living.

I smile up at Anakin as his arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls me back against his chest in a warm embrace. He bends his head down to mine and our lips meet in a kiss of almost unbearable tenderness. The remaining barriers between us are washed away by the resulting torrent of love and emotion that wells within us. Emotions, heartbreaking in their intensity wash over me, and through our bond. Love, fear, joy, and perhaps most importantly, hope.

My heart is at peace for the first time in far longer then I can remember. I find that I can honestly and wholly forgive him for all he has done because, for all he taken from me, he has given so much more.

He came for me when I needed him the most, he took me out of the darkness, and gave me hope. Something I had lost so long ago. Yes. I can forgive this man because I love him. Wholly, completely, madly, passionately, I. Love. Him. In the end, when everything else is gone, and all has been said and done, that one thing remains. Love. And that, is the most precious gift of all.

**The End**


End file.
